


A Drop of Fire

by the_master_of_escapism



Series: Rise of the Dragonlord [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Anxiety, Bombs, Childhood Trauma, Crimes & Criminals, Deception, Delusions, Drama, Drugs, Emotionally Confused, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fate, Fluff, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, London, Love, M/M, Magic, Memories, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Press and Tabloids, Protectiveness, Reincarnation, Rituals, Romance, Scotland Yard, Secrets, Sex, Summer, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-04-12 09:52:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 95,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4474850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_master_of_escapism/pseuds/the_master_of_escapism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One year ago Merlin was just another young detective in London, doing his best to protect and serve. Until he met Arthur. Until the magic. Until he remembered. Now everything is different, dangerous, now his own mind is a threat.</p><p>A new murder leads them all straight into the waiting arms of a hunter, a Witchfinder, and Merlin struggles to keep his head straight as a darker branch of Old Religion rises and Arthur remains clueless about their past. He doesn’t know which is worse and Arthur is the one person he wants to confide in. He’s also the one person he would hurt the most if he ever did. Not to mention Mordred and Morgana climbing back into their lives.</p><p>The summer was going to be great.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Battle

**Author's Note:**

> And they return! This second part branches out a bit more in terms of exploring other main character's story lines, as well as going into a bigger, grander, plot (or that's what I hope it is) and I hope you enjoy it. :)

‘What would you like to know?’

‘Anything. Everything,’ he responded. Lifting his tumbler to touch his lips, he savoured the dark golden burn of the scotch as it ran from his tongue down his throat. A smooth smile eased itself onto his ageing features.

The middle-aged politician laughed. ‘Want to narrow down the field?’

‘I’ll let you decide what’s up for discussion,’ he said firmly, politely. The gentle lighting in the room accentuated the oaks and richly coloured curtains, but couldn’t fight off the darkness of the night air which pushed against the french doors. It left the two of them confined in a space reserved for government, formality and business.

‘In that case, I think my newest project is a good place to start,’ the politician continued, sinking into the comfort of his pride and self-indulgence.

‘Please, enlighten me,’ he began, but the flash of arrogance in the man’s eyes stopped him short of letting him _enlighten_. He had his own business to discuss after all. ‘I must admit, I do have just one question.’

‘Shoot.’

Placing the heavy glass onto the table he leaned forward, clasping his hands together. The politician mirrored his action. ‘Do you believe in magic?’

‘I, uh, I’m not quite sure what you mean,’ he said, words stumbling ever so slightly as he rested back into the baroque chair. The smooth smile grew in turn before he wiped it away and replaced it with furrowed brows.

‘Sure? No matter. Please, do continue. you were saying? A new project?’ he pressed. The politician tapped his finger on the arm of the chair, the spark in his eyes dulled by concern. Worn down by growing realisation.

‘Yes, yes, um, well it’s really quite innovative,’ he rattled off, touching his tie, taking another drink of his scotch. It was an impressive swig, and he downed all of the amber fluid. A cough followed.

‘Bit strong?’ he asked, eyebrow quirked up. The man stifled another splutter with a hand and shot him a stare of confusion. ‘The scotch?’

When the politician’s next few breaths struggled out with coughs and wheezes, he stood and walked around the desk. A hand comforted him, felt the expensive fabric of the bespoke suit. The man’s skin was reddening, his heart thumping away in panic within his chest.

He lowered his head down to the man’s face and spoke softly. ‘I want you to concentrate, Mr Thornberry. That pain in your chest? Fire. Right now it’s burning away your internal organs, blood, heart. All of it.’

His hand felt the heart thud with admirable force. ‘Wha-’

‘This world needs salvation, Tom, and it’s going to start with you,’ he continued, soothing him with his hand, supporting himself with another on the desk. ‘I can’t thank you enough for the trail you left. Led me straight from the witch, to you. You are essential. Irreplaceable.’

Tom Thornberry’s body began to spasm, his hands clutching at the desk, then at him. The politician’s fingers dug into his shoulder, their grip fierce and never faltering. Their eyes met, his own grey with the other man’s depthless brown. The breaths were laboured, all dignity slipping away as quickly as his life. Spit, drool, whatever you wanted to call it dribbled out of his mouth. It wet his face, soon joined by tears. Like the scotch, he savoured the burning in the air, under the man’s skin. How the air shook with the heat of the politician’s dying breaths. The flickering gold in the man’s eyes which found itself smothered by flame.

Then the calmness when the fingers lost their grip, the terror in the burning eyes washed out and replaced by ambivalence. Death. Carefully, he rested Thornberry’s body back onto the chair, onto the desk. With his own handkerchief he cleaned the dead politician’s face, leaving only a lingering red pigment which was already cooling into a pale sheen. He finished his own drink and placed it back onto the tray on his way out of the study.  


## * * *

 

Mordred tugged on the second sock and laced up his Oxford shoes, feeling the bed shift beneath him as one of his companions stirred.

‘Good morning,’ he said, craning his head back to see the man sit up and give him a disappointed look. He’d forgotten to learn the man’s name.

‘No round two?’ the nameless man inquired as he pushed the rumpled duvet down to reveal more of his chest.

Mordred got up to his feet and did up the blazer’s buttons. ‘Another time maybe.’

‘Too bad,’ a soft voice huffed beside the nameless man. She poked her head out, hair frayed and wild with a similar animalistic glint in her dark eyes. Kara. Her, he remembered. ‘Don’t suppose you’ll be coming back later?’

Taking a cursory glance at the mirror he grabbed his bag and helmet, pulling the door open. It was quite the sight, the two of them staring at him with a mixture of irritation, lust and acceptance. Naked all but for the bed cover. Himself suit-wearing, showered and shaven.

‘Don’t count on it,’ he finally said as he left and shut the door. Closed out that life. Down the flights of stairs, onto the pavement, finding his bike. The air outside was warm but crisp with the cool breeze and complimented by the early morning sun daring to show itself. The streets were alive with traffic and pedestrians, as if that day were like any other. He’d missed the beat of life in London. Ensuring the bag was secured with the strap around his chest he climbed onto the motorbike and positioned it snuggly behind him.

Pulling the helmet down over his head, he muffled the world and left himself devoid of distractions. Ignite the engine, kick up the stand and pull into the throngs of traffic. Mordred weaved through the circuit of roads, rows of cars and buses until he finally pulled up where a mass of spectators and reporters had formed. He could barely see pass them, but once he’d parked the bike and removed the helmet he was able to move through them. It took time, fumbling and stumbling but he emerged to see her.

Through the black gates which were now opening, there were officers and men in suits flanking her until they broke off and left her on a solitary march down the path. Leaving the ranks of the journalists he headed forwards to meet her, trying to ignore the camera flashes and invasive questions they threw out at him. Her hair was delicately curled, skin free from any blemish and piercing eyes still alight with that unnerving determination.

‘Mordred,’ she remarked when she reached the last step. ‘Come to save me?’ The sunlight caught the shine of her pink lips, no longer hidden by the bloody lipstick. They spread into a grin of triumph, and his chest constricted with the memories.

His thoughts tripped for only a second. ‘What else?’

Walking by her side he now turned to face the press.

‘What does the false arrest say about the state of the Met?’ a young woman asked as a semi circle formed around the pair. Morgana had their complete attention, leaving Mordred out of it. She hadn’t lost any of her appeal to the public, not in personality or appearance and her temporary time in prison had, if anything, left her with another, sharper, edge. The tightness in his chest refused to loosen, and Mordred did his best to focus on the press coverage. Submerge the heavy weight pulling at his mind, forget about it.

‘They did what they thought was best,’ she said, her voice flattering and humble. ‘The right people have now been apprehended and that’s what matters.’

‘And DS Emrys’ statement naming you the leader of the Old Religion cult?’ she challenged, the microphone held steadily to capture whatever Morgana chose to say. Capture it, catalogue it, and blare it back out to the public.

‘From what I hear he’s the best detective London has seen in decades. One mistake is hardly career changing, and this one shouldn’t be. He followed the evidence, and there was no way to know it was misleading.’

Another round of _clicks_ from the cameras, lens adjustments made for recordings and too many queries later he took Morgana by the arm and led her away. The journalists left them alone, and he found the isolation even worse. For months he knew this day was coming. For months he had endeavoured to ignore it. Before that he hadn’t cared. Morgana was free, Merlin a sham, himself a victim. Now her magic tested him with every step they took along the pavement, identifying what she’d known before they arrested her. He let her find what she expected. Drip fed the oozing obsession, the desire and twisted adoration for a man he had almost destroyed. He’d had time to perfect his own magic, to perfect the façade he now employed.

Before she could start a proper conversation with him he hailed a cab for her, gave the driver the address and followed with his bike.

 

## * * *

 

‘I have a new case for you,’ Agravaine announced, inciting Arthur to look up from the insurmountable amount of paperwork he was tackling. While their success rate was a good thing, it also meant more time filing away the cases. The process was automatic and verged on tedious, leaving him free to roam his thoughts. The last thing he wanted to do.

‘A key figure in the Department for Education, Thomas Thornberry, was found dead in his home study late this morning. When he failed to show to a meeting they sent somebody round. Forensics teams have already set up, and since foul play is suspected-’ He gestured towards Arthur.

‘I’ll get right on it,’ he said and leapt out of his seat, grabbing his keys and making for the exit. A hand stopped him.

Agravaine nudged him back a step before adding, ‘DS Emrys needs to go with you. He has the best reputation out of the lot of you, and the press will be crawling all over this case.’

Arthur felt his heart beat heavier.

‘His reputation is a bit controversial too, though,’ Gwen reminded them, leaving her own work to help out. ‘And it’s his day off.’

‘It’s good enough to settle people’s nerves, and if every officer got to ignore cases because of breaks, or holidays, Scotland Yard would be filled with layabouts and invalids,’ he sniped. A pungent smell emanated from his superior, and then Arthur noticed the gel in Agravaine’s hair. He pursed his lips slightly at the disconcerting sight and held his tongue. ‘DS Emrys needs to show up to that man’s house with or without you. Understand?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Arthur bit out.

‘Excellent. I’m positive you’re team will solve this one just like the last … hundred? I’ve lost count these past few months,’ Agravaine said, giving Arthur a pat and slinking back into his office.

‘Want me to come with?’ Gwen offered, fully prepared to finish her own mound of work later.

‘Gwen, you really are the kindest person I know,’ he said while he dug into his pocket for his mobile, ‘but no.’

He thumbed in the message and sent it before charging down to his car.

 

## * * *

 

The ache in his muscles was still fresh, the ghostly thumps of his heart still in his ears. His showered hair had dried, and his body felt renewed from the exercise. It left a buzz in every sinew, even as he sat in the café watching the world with the coffee. Nobody batted an eye at him, too absorbed in their own lives, and he felt the freedom, felt like he could take a full breath. Only he couldn’t. Not completely.

The low chatter from the other patrons blurred together and Merlin nursed the hot caffeine, watching the steam coil and snake up into the air. Through it he stared into a maze of colours. The magic thrummed through him in time with his breath, his movement. It cast a new eye onto the world and did twice as much after a workout, so he watched. The steam, the imperfections in the glass, the lives of each stranger. Each one tinged with their thoughts, loves, hates, experience. Some had an odd glimmer, others carried more shadows than others. He saw it all, the stain of their existences trailing behind them like their footsteps, broken only by the next story, the next life.

_Morgana La Fey, formerly Pendragon, was released from HM Prison Holloway only an hour ago._

The news pierced his reverie. Silently cursing whoever chose to listen to Radio 1 he took another sip of the coffee, sweet and bitter. Vibrations ran through his thigh and up to his hip. Checking his phone he saw Arthur’s text. It verged on a threat. “New case. Job’s on the line.” Merlin eyed the address and sighed deeply. His first day away from work in months couldn’t even be salvaged. He took one last moment to appreciate the calming atmosphere, the buzz, the warmth, the smooth wood of the counter, the sound of life. Forcing himself away from it all he snatched up the gym bag and slipped onto the street, heading to the edge of a busy crowd. Merging with them, he took the next instant to Vanish. Since Christmas, since he broke down that door into his real potential, the magic had grown. With it came new abilities. At first it was accident, Vanishing and appearing at the hospital. Now he could do it at will.

Physics, the possible, were all ripped to shreds long ago and every cell in his body felt buildings, the bricks and cement, and people, the fibres of their clothes, the heat of their skin and rushing blood. It all tore through him and then he stepped onto the pavement next to a police car. A PC recognised him and showed him to the suits, taking the gym bag and noting his casual attire. Pulling the sterile white suit on over his jeans and shirt he leaned down to tie on the shoe covers when a shadow moved over him. Looking up he saw Gwaine’s smiling face.

‘Working on your day off, eh?’ he remarked. ‘It’s a tough life.’

‘If killers had manners our jobs would be that much easier,’ Merlin said, mood lifting with the joy he felt in his friend. ‘Gwaine, can you go and make sure the reporters keep out of our way?’

‘Sure thing, DS Emrys,’ the Irishman said, emphasising the ‘DS’ enough for Merlin to notice his formal address. His promotion wasn’t even two weeks old, and Gwaine acted like it was yesterday. With a calmer disposition he entered the crime scene, flashing his warrant card as he ducked under the police tape.

‘DS Emrys. I’m the scene manager, Dr Eleanor Reed,’ a woman said when he stepped across the front door’s threshold. ‘The victim, Caucasian male, has no clear cause of death. I would guess heart attack, but I don’t like guessing.’

‘I don’t either.’

He followed her as she led him through the small foyer into the kitchen.

‘It appears he had company last night, possibly the killer,’ she continued and paused before a room, lifting the face mask up and over her mouth and nose. He did the same before she led him in where two other forensic scientists were taking samples and pictures. The stepping plates which marked their path from the front door to the study branched off, circling around the desk in a square formation. The scientists shifted their work to the one branch, and Dr Reed led him closer to the body of Thomas Thornberry. Shifting out of the way she let him pass her to stand next to him, where he bent down and looked into the eyes now glazed over.

‘There’s another tumbler on the drinks cabinet, and it still has some liquid left inside,’ Dr Reed went on to explain. Merlin stood up straight, eyes passing over the picture frames, the ash tray, the silver leaping wolf ornament. Beneath Thornberry’s hand sat a leather bound book.

Reaching for it he stayed the action. ‘May I?’

‘Go ahead,’ she replied, and he lifted the cold hand up. The rubber of the glove covering his fingers pressed into the dead skin and a hollow queasiness rushed through him. He fought against rejecting the sensation, letting it flow freely. Allowed the man’s life, his memories to pour into him. Only it came out mangled, fragmented. Where he should have heard the echo of voices, of the killer if there was one, felt the chair Thornberry now sat in, he couldn’t be sure of anything. Merlin couldn’t see it happen. Couldn’t see the murder, or his death.

‘What’s his story?’

Merlin jerked up a little. Arthur. Dr Reed had left, no doubt making a note of the new arrivals.

‘I have no idea,’ Merlin murmured, voice muffled by the mask as he slid out the book before putting Tom Thornberry’s hand back down. He drooped it into an evidence bag and sealed it shut.

‘Is it magic then?’ Arthur’s voice was a hushed whisper, the man himself standing on the stepping plate next to Merlin’s.

Keeping his eyes focused on the bag he made to step pass Arthur. ‘It’s likely.’

The DS shifted and let him. Giving the bag over to one of the forensic’s team he saw Dr Reed enter the room again.

‘Approximate time of death?’ he asked her.

‘Somewhere between seven and ten last night. Personal assistant found him this morning,’ she replied then shot an irritated glance back to the front door. ‘The press want a comment from you.’

‘On an active case? Not going to happen,’ Merlin said, turning back and crouching down on the stepping plate. From the new angle he scrutinised the study, the patio he could see through the french doors.

‘They’re adamant,’ she pressed.

‘Tell them to fuck off.’

‘Hey,’ Arthur piped up. ‘Don’t take it out on the messenger.’

‘No, no, it’s a good idea,’ Dr Reed said behind him. ‘I’ll leave you to your investigation.’

She left without another word, steps clacking on the metal plates, and Merlin focused his attention back onto the scene. He tried to coax out any further evidence, anything at all, but it was all broken. Missing.

‘That was uncalled for,’ Arthur said.

‘What was?’ he asked absent-mindedly, studying the fanned leaves of the plants, the small notches of the canvas painting hung up on the wall. The uneven spread of the paint smeared on the fabric.

Arthur remained fixed in place. ‘Merlin, even if magic’s blocking you out, we’ll still figure this out.’

‘I know we will,’ he agreed, getting up and meeting the king’s stare. _The king._ Ex-king. His head throbbed unpleasantly and he left, each step making breathing that much easier. He felt Arthur follow after a minute or two examining the scene for himself. Once outside he pulled down the hood of the suit, tugging off the mask, stripping off the suit as he walked. The road had been blocked off and he saw Gwaine keeping a watchful eye, but when the press saw him duck under the tape they came to life once again. Shoving the bundled suit and mask into the plastic box in the back of a forensics van he felt ice tap dance along his spine. He scoured the area, but there was nothing.

‘What is it?’ Arthur asked, disposing of his own suit.

‘Nothing.’

Arthur looked out, following Merlin’s eyes. ‘Car’s over here.’

With that he stepped away and Merlin waited a moment before he went to get into the passenger side. Gwaine was flirting with the PC who still held onto Merlin’s gym bag.

‘Thanks,’ he muttered, taking it from them and receiving a wink from Gwaine.

‘Oh, the Head of External Relations has requested a meeting with you,’ the PC said and handed him a note before quickly returning her attention to the Irishman.

Merlin avoided the spectators as best he could following Arthur and threw the bag onto the back seat before he climbed in, doing up his seat belt as Arthur pushed the key in and started the engine.

‘Do you have any painkillers?’ he asked after a long silence. Thornberry’s house was two or so hours away from Scotland Yard, at least in the traffic they had to battle through. The throbbing in his head had become an aggressive drumming, repetitive and harsh.

‘At the office,’ Arthur murmured in reply.

He stared out of the window, at the darkened sky with clouds hanging low and dense. The sun seemed to resist any long stints in the sky. ‘Right.’

‘Merlin, you need to talk to me.’

He could feel it, Arthur trying to reach out to him. ‘About?’

In one fell swoop Arthur had turned the steering wheel to the left and pulled over, parking with the machinery in the bonnet still humming, warm and ready to take off again.

‘Let’s start with your moving out,’ he said, the weight of his attention pushing into the side of Merlin’s face. Locking out the world he faced Arthur. Those eyes, they were wounded, angry. Surprisingly controlled for Arthur’s temper. Another yank of nerves in his mind and another ache.

‘It was a temporary set up to begin with, Arthur. It’s been over six months after all,’ he reasoned, but the words felt cruel and stung him just as much as they injured the DS.

‘Don’t pretend like this was always going to happen. Things were more than great and then you announce you’re looking at flats and … Was it me?’ he said, eyes darting away from him and back again with confusion. ‘I wasn’t the best after my father. I mean, I know that dealing with his will and Morgana, the CPS, all of it-’

‘Arthur, please,’ Merlin cut in. ‘It’s not you.’

‘Christ,’ he huffed, resting is head down on the steering wheel. The man’s fair hair shifted, and in it Merlin could see the ghosts of leaves, disarray, an old sun’s light brightening it.

‘What?’

‘I can’t remember the last time you smiled,’ Arthur whispered, still staring down the face of the wheel. Merlin was a second away from enveloping the man in a hug, forcing his lips to contort into something resembling a grin, but the pounding, the clenching in his chest, stopped him. ‘Is it Mordred? His disappearance?’

‘No,’ he said flatly. That didn’t matter. He wanted the monster gone. More so now than ever before. His heart wouldn’t let the explanation escape, though. His mind was in agreement to withhold it too. Ignoring his physical refusal, Merlin covered Arthur’s hand with his own. His fingers curled around it, matching how Arthur’s hand was wrapped around the wheel. ‘I know this is hurting you, but I’m moving out, not ending our relationship.’

‘Then why does it feel like you are?’ Arthur questioned, looking up with a dejected expression.

 

## * * *

 

Mordred stood to the side. ‘What do you think?’

‘It’s beautiful,’ Morgana breathed, her eyes bright despite the darkening sky outside. She turned around in circles, taking in every inch of the new flat. ‘I can’t imagine you went out and bought all these things yourself.’

‘I found the number of a personal shopper in your room,’ he explained, letting his magic thread around his body to mask the agitation. ‘She’s lovely by the way.’

‘Where’d you find the money?’ she asked, running her hand down the silky fabric of the floor length curtains. They were light and blew with the soft breeze from the open balcony doors. A small place, but pleasant. Not the kind of place shadows would linger. He hoped.

‘A generous settlement, sold my studio, and rather large donations from certain government officials,’ he listed, leaning against the wall with hands in his trouser pockets. It took everything he had to relax his muscles and stance, project the indifferent posture. ‘Magic too, obviously.’

‘Obviously,’ she echoed with a twitch of a smile. Morgana turned from the bookshelf. ‘You seem happier than when I last saw you.’

‘Well, you’re out. They’ve reinstated you too,’ Mordred said, feeling the smile etch itself onto his face.

Her thick eyebrows pushed together. ‘They have?’

‘It’s all a big embarrassing mistake for the Met, and the press are lapping it all up,’ he went on, pushing away from the wall and running a finger along the white table’s wooden surface. It was uneven, the paint faded and chipped in some areas.

‘What are they saying about you?’

‘Old Religion kidnapped me from the hospital. All quite grizzly stuff, but some of the rumours are gold,’ Mordred said, finger reaching the edge.

‘And Merlin?’

‘What about him?’ He caught her glare, digging into him. Another surge to the net of magic around his skin and he laughed softly. ‘Haven’t seen him. Only came back to London last week, so. The whole trying to kill him thing hasn’t really come up either. Wondering about your little enchantment, aren’t you?’

Her smile was gone, but she didn’t suspect. Not yet. ‘Yes.’

‘Never thanked you for that, did I?’ he asked, lifting his eyebrows and biting on his bottom lip, wetting it before freeing it once more.

The amusement sparked in her face. ‘Thanked me?’

‘Yeah, well thanks.’ He rounded on her playfully and she grinned. Like a dance he stepped around her, each step placed with thought and strategy. Every twitch of his expression programmed. ‘It’s been an eye opening experience, to say the least.’

‘Has the burning desire to kill him run its course?’ Morgana queried, catching his gaze with her own.

It was almost too easy. ‘Not quite yet. Tea?’

The joy in her face almost made him forget she hadn’t changed. ‘Sure.’

He left the dance, consoled himself, and found security in the kitchen. That was another thought he’d been fighting against. Morgana was his new battle, but Merlin had been his defeat. The cold sweat of night terrors brushed his skin in memory of the last few weeks. Reminded him. He didn’t want the love he felt, cursed himself for it. She had stolen it from him, abused it.

He’d cared for it and recovered, broke the surface of that smothering sea. His powers were more than hers could ever be, and he didn’t understand why. Didn’t care why. Mordred turned on the kettle after refilling it. Merlin was his regret and his dream and he loathed Morgana more than he’d ever thought were possible for a human being. Then again, was he even human?


	2. Control

 Gwen had already started adding pictures and facts to the investigation boards. They were large, clear plastic creatures which they’d been using for about three months. Mostly to show the real thought put into their cases, more than Merlin’s ability to see the crimes with magic. Gwaine was filling her in on details, perched on the desk, when he saw Merlin walk in.

‘Took you long enough,’ he bellowed and ducked to avoid a swat Percy aimed at him. Merlin chuckled, suppressing any and all recollection which attempted to announce itself in his thoughts.

‘DS Emrys, you missed yet another appointment with Dr Ruadan,’ Agravaine accused, rounding on him. ‘You can’t miss the next meeting.’

‘I thought you went last Thursday,’ Arthur said, coming up behind him. They hadn’t made much, if any progress, with their chat in the car and Merlin felt the tension between them twinge. A tension he’d created.

‘Need I remind you the appointments must be kept for this last month or I’ll have to suspend you,’ Agravaine explained, his words dripping with something highly unpleasant. Merlin saw the slime slither around the man, but he’d grown used to its stench. No one else saw it, smelled it. They were lucky. ‘You’ve managed the last six. If you want to be SIO on this case you’ll need act like a leader, DS Emrys.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘We’ve got statements,’ Leon proclaimed, passing Merlin and Arthur with Elyan in tow and his notebook held high like a trophy. ‘Spoke with the personal assistant, some of Thornberry’s work friends and a rather distraught young woman. _Not_ his wife. They were supposed to meet late last night for drinks, around nine, but he never made it. She sought us out and everything. Upset but clearly wanted to help.’

‘Narrows down our time of death,’ Arthur said, heading up to the boards where Gwen was editing the time in a red board marker.

‘She does something with the media,’ Elyan added.

 Irritation bubbled up inside Merlin. ‘Why didn’t you check with myself or Arthur before getting the statement?’

‘They’re routine questions. If they have an alibi, the nature of their relationship with the victim, so on,’ Leon said, slightly offended but his gentle features changed into a look of understanding. ‘Next time we will. The media’s dangerous territory, right?’

‘We need to follow up on the alibis. This case requires we be thorough and fast,’ Merlin said. He opened his mouth to address the pressures of the press having even greater attention on the case but Agravaine stepped forward and cut him short.

‘If you two could head back out and check every alibi,’ he ordered, and Leon gave Elyan a look of shared annoyance. They probably wanted to theorise, do something less mundane and more extravagant. ‘DS Pendragon, head to the lab and see if they’ve had enough time to discover anything. If not, tell them to fast track the evidence and analysis. DS Emrys, Dr Ruadan will surely clear his schedule to fit you in so I need you to go have that meeting. The rest of you know what to do.’

 Just as Agravaine retreated Arthur shifted into Merlin's view, holding out his keys. ‘I’ll take the tube.’

‘As much as I’d love to put it off, I can’t handle any more of that traffic,’ Merlin said and Arthur withdrew his hand and offer. They looked at another, both trying to say something different. Merlin left. He sank down into London’s underbelly and washed his senses of Arthur. Filled himself with the colours of hundreds of strangers as he sped away from Scotland Yard. The lights of the tube carriage flickered, drawing the attention of a few other passengers for a second before they returned to their own thoughts. Some shot him stares which lasted a beat too long and he shifted slightly. His face had been in the news more than he’d have liked.

 A short walk later he was sat down again, waiting. No other ‘patients’ were there, leaving his only company in the hands of an old woman sat behind the receptionist’s desk. A wall clock ticked away.

‘DS Merlin Emrys?’ a young man asked as he came in through a side door. He nodded and let the man, intern most likely, lead him to an office he’d been to over twenty times. Inside he found Dr Ruadan making notes on a pad resting on his knees.

‘Ah, Merlin,’ he greeted, smiling and inviting him to sit down on the opposite lounge chair. The room was clean, simple. Plain blinds, comfortable chairs. A potted plant. ‘Last Thursday was a busy time?’

‘Very,’ Merlin said, taking his seat.

‘You haven’t missed any appointment until now. Regardless of workload,’ Dr Ruadan went on to remind him. A deep look of concern was carved into the doctor’s face, accompanied by dark eyes which did their best to discern your problems and help you. He’d learned he couldn’t withhold all information from the psychologist after the first two sessions. ‘What changed?’

_Changed?_ He’d felt the pain in his throat, the inability to breathe. The magic pumping away inside had darkened even more. ‘Nothing.’

‘Have you had any more nightmares?’

‘No. Not since last Friday,’ he said, the truth tasting airy and pleasant in his mouth.

‘The headaches?’

‘Still have those.’

‘Feeling stressed?’

‘You always ask that,’ Merlin noted, hooking his ankle up to rest on his knee.

 Dr Ruadan was unfazed. ‘So?’

‘You already know the answer. It’s a waste of time to ask.’

‘Is it a waste of time to care?’ he asked, pausing for Merlin’s reply, but he had none. ‘Did you have another argument with Arthur?’

‘It wasn’t an argument.’

‘You’re an expressive man, Merlin. When it comes to your heart at least. Your brows pinch together ever so slightly when you two have … discussions. Your answers are curt too,’ he said, having completely ignored the pen and the pad since their conversation began. ‘What did you talk about?’

‘He doesn’t understand why I’m moving out,’ Merlin muttered, looking away from the face which echoed his troubles with sincerity. Dr Ruadan was around thirty years his senior, and that disparity crumbled into meaningless fact. Merlin felt understood, like he spoke with a worried friend, parent or another close family member. At least that's what he supposed speaking with a family member felt like. The doctor always watched him and spoke with integrity and truthfulness. During one of the sessions Merlin could have sworn he felt the faint touch of magic from him, but he hadn’t felt it since.

‘Have you explained?’

‘Sort of,’ he said, examining the bars of light cast onto the floor by the blinds. ‘It’s not him. Not Mordred.’

‘Is that true?’

‘I don’t know. It was impulsive, moving in. I’d only known him for a month, maybe two.’

‘You can’t remember how long?’ Dr Ruadan questioned, gentle surprise in his voice. ‘Merlin, there are no time constraints on relationships.’

‘You’ve said before. I’m not happy, that’s all. I don’t know if it’s Arthur, or what happened, has been happening. I just need a positive change,’ he said as he met with the doctor’s eyes again. ‘Control.’

‘Tell him that. What you’re going through is a public matter after all. Even he isn’t receiving the kind of attention you are, be it tabloids or established newspapers. You can’t expect him to completely understand, but knowing is better than being left in the dark.’

 Merlin’s phone buzzed, but he let the doctor’s words soak in with the silence before he checked it. It was about the public affairs meeting. ‘Duty calls.’

‘Try not miss our next session?’ Dr Ruadan implored, not fighting Merlin’s movement towards the door.

‘Can’t promise anything,’ he said. It was honest. True. The doctor’s thick and greying facial hair obscured it, but Merlin could see a vague smile hidden under the moustache’s bristles. He didn’t care for the External Relations department, yet they’d saved his job at Scotland Yard from crashing and burning at the whim of Morgana and her lawyers, so he owed them a few minutes of his time.

 

## * * *

 

‘Find anything?’ Gwen chirped hopefully, wrapping her arms around Arthur’s shoulders from behind. She peered at the computer screen filled with any record of Thornberry he’d been able to find.

‘No,’ he puffed. ‘This guy was a bloody saint. Either the killer knew something we don’t or it was entirely random. It’s only the first day, we have time to solve it.’

‘With the press sniffing around like blood hounds?’

 Arthur swivelled the chair around to display his sarcastic smile. ‘Thanks for the reminder.’

‘Are you going home tonight?’ she asked, already holding her own packed bag with her desktop closed down for the night.

‘Got some paperwork I need to put to bed first. I’ll leave in an hour or so,’ he assured her.

‘Arthur, if you want to talk-’

‘Gwen,’ he interrupted. He showed her a genuine smile. ‘I’m alright.’

 She scoffed at him. ‘You’ve always been a bad liar, Arthur Pendragon.’

‘And Merlin’s such a good one,’ he muttered. Groaning he turned away from her and scrolled down another article.

‘Everyone’s concerned about you two,’ Gwen said, now getting to the crux of the matter. The office was empty except for themselves and one or two others a far enough distance away. ‘None of us know what he went through, though. The magic too, something I can barely comprehend living with. What he did-’

‘I know, but we’re worlds apart, Gwen, and as far as I can tell he doesn’t want help. Even if he did, I’m not sure I’d know how to give it.’

‘Would you let me finish for once?’

‘Sorry.’

‘What he did was beyond what we’d all assumed was possible. Beyond what _he_ had assumed possible. You just need to be patient. Your worlds will come back together. The reporters are still attacking him after all. Especially with Morgana’s release,’ she broke off. ‘Call me, day or night, if you need to.’

‘Thank you, Guinevere,’ Arthur said, lips pressing together when he realised what he’d said.

 She frowned. ‘As much as I like the ring of that, it’s just Gwen.’

‘Yeah, sorry. Thank you, Gwen. See you tomorrow.’

‘A fresh start?’

‘The freshest.’

 She laughed softly and left, letting her tightly curled hair down from its bun as she went. Arthur continued noting whatever seemed remotely relevant. _Studied law. Played cricket._ He was in for a long night.

 

## * * *

 

 Agravaine tried his best to seem elated. He’d rushed over to the hospital when the doctor called him and told him the news. He was about to discover information that could destroy DS Emrys’ whole career, and that wasn’t an attractive idea. While a deep part of him loathed the young man, another knew that he was the best detective they had in his CID. To lose that asset? He shuddered at the thought.

‘He woke up an hour or two ago. Your visits must have helped,’ the nurse said, folding down a foot of the sheet covering Cenred’s sleeping form.

‘I’m just so glad he’s better. We’ve been so worried,’ Agravaine said, remaining at the foot of the hospital bed and watching expectantly. He'd settled into the lies he had to tell months ago. They'd become a second skin. Anything to protect his CID.

‘You’re a close friend?’

 He nodded. ‘I am. Ever since boyhood.’

‘How sweet. We’ve had him under anaesthesia but I’ll wake him for you now,’ she said and pushed a needle into the soft skin of Cenred's inner elbow.

‘Why sedate him?’

‘He had a violent outburst when he woke. The coma might have caused brain damage, or the shock of the situation triggered it. We won’t be sure until we run more tests.’

‘Violent outburst?’

‘Yelling things, thrashing about. One of the doctors left with a black eye. That’s why we had to add the straps. Just in case,’ she explained and looked up with an oddly cheerful smile. Agravaine was grateful for the padded straps which locked the man in place. They kept him safe.

‘A sensible decision.’

‘I’ll leave you alone with him He’s secured so you’ll be in no danger,’ she said, exiting and closing the door. Half of it consisted of a window through which the hospital went about business normally. Perhaps a little quieter given the late hour. Tentatively, Agravaine edged around the bed.

‘Cenred, can you hear me?’ he whispered, willing the man to wake again. Preferably more calmly. He waited in the silence, the heart monitor beeping steadily with Cenred’s life. When Agravaine looked back from the monitor to Cenred's body he jumped away. The man was staring at him, the whites of his eyes strange to see after months of closed lids. He let out a breathy laugh. ‘Welcome back. I’m DCS Agravaine. As I understand it, you had a brain haemorrhage while in police custody, under the supervision of DC Emrys.’

 The beeping sped up.

‘I’d like you to tell me what happened,’ Agravaine said. ‘Can you do that?’

‘Storm,’ Cenred croaked out, eyes shifting to bore holes into the ceiling. A wildness wreathed itself around the irises. The beeping grew sporadic. ‘All around.’

‘A storm?’

‘Dark eyes, they were so dark,’ he continued, words sluggish but churned out faster than the last, ‘so black. Burning.’

‘Did somebody attack you?’ Agravaine queried, attempting to calm his own growing fear. The man was surely deranged. ‘You need to tell me so I can bring them to justice, Cenred.’

‘Everywhere,’ he hissed, the beeping carrying on. Faster and unsteady. His speech was slack and spit grew to a froth at the corners of his mouth. ‘The water. Water, it was everywhere, but I was dry.’

‘Did Merlin Emrys do this to you?’ he asked, wishing desperately for a clear answer out of the man.

‘Merlin, Merlin,’ Cenred repeated, over and over again for what seemed an age. ‘Beautiful. His lips, cheekbones, eyes. Eyes in the dark, so bright, gold. Gold.’

 Agravaine stepped away and was about to call for the nurse when the beeping halved in pace. Relaxed and steady it went on, and Agravaine found Cenred sleeping again. The whites of his eyes hidden again. He couldn’t shake it though. The dread he felt about Merlin and his involvement with Cenred. A talk with Kilgharrah was in order. He straightened his jacket and strolled out of the hospital room, maintaining a tranquil composure. The madness in the words, the insanity plaguing Cenred’s eyes, haunted each step.

 

## * * *

 

 His foot hit the pavement with more force than he’d expected and he felt a sharp twinge. One ribbon of magic tied around his ankle and the pain subsided within moments. Rounding the corner of the street, Merlin soothed the last knot in his back from sleeping on the sofa the previous night, something he couldn’t adjust to even if it was his own choice. The morning sky remained overcast, but the air was warm, hot even.

‘DS Merlin Emrys!’

 The grating shout pulled his eyes down from the clouds above to the horde of journalists and their kin below. They polluted Scotland Yard’s front doors and spilled onto the street with vans decorated with channel names. Keeping his steps steady he let the tangled colours and lives fade into a blur of irrelevance and headed for the entrance at the fastest sensible pace he could manage.

‘What do you think of Morgana La Fey’s reinstatement?’

‘How did Thornberry die? Was it murder?’

‘Are you and Arthur Pendragon involved?’

‘Have you found the real spiral killers?’

 It was impossible. They blocked his escape with their bodies, cameras, breaths and colours. At every angle a flash, his face caught by a lens. Reigning in the budding anger he stood still.

 He cleared the clutter and dealt with their questions. ‘Nick Thornberry’s death is still under investigation, but foul play is suspected. As for Morgana La Fey’s reinstatement, I’m glad my mistake hasn’t cost either of us our careers and I hope to reconcile a good friendship with a colleague. With a clean slate we can tackle the Old Religion case with renewed life and insight. While there hasn’t been another murder, the Met and Scotland Yard will pursue these monsters until they are found. Until they are locked away for an exceptionally long time.’

 It sated their some of their hunger for information and Merlin pushed through the wall they formed into the building. Shouts and flashes pressed against his back until officers closed the doors. Inside the air shimmered with something different. A new scent wafted along the walls, desks, and Merlin made his way up to the floor of the CID’s operations. When the lift’s doors slid open the drone of the machinery quieted and everything else seemed to take on a dimmed quality. His feet were soundless on the carpet fibres as he was met with the stares of the murder investigation team, the task force.

_Knights._ Their lights were pure and brighter than the strangers he saw daily, yet now they seemed diminished. Mournful. He automatically scouted out Arthur, but he couldn’t move towards his friends, towards him. He knew why the DS stood with unusual discipline and authority. The brightest colour of them all and it was muted to a worrying level.

‘Morgana’s been reinstated?’ His own words felt foreign, filling the silence with poison.

Arthur’s eyes hardened. ‘Apparently.’

‘It’s a joke. It has to be,’ Gwaine said, the usual burst of vigour in his voice rusted and tired.

‘If we made an appeal,’ Leon began but Gwen touched his arm, shaking her head.

‘DCS Agravaine would have known about this for weeks,’ she said, forcing them to face what they’d already guessed. ‘He could have told us and he probably didn’t because we’d do exactly that.’

‘So we just let that witch, murderer, walk around Scotland Yard freely?’ Leon said, his hands clenching into fists. Merlin remembered how they’d all watched him get shot. Die. Saw the power magic held. They no doubt feared her and the potential she brought with her. Did they fear him? His power?

‘We have no other choice,’ Arthur said with finality, his features gaunt and stretched. Kilgharrah’s office door clicked open and broke the heavy tension. The DCI was the first to leave, shortly followed the by the dark and slimy Agravaine. Morgana emerged. Merlin felt sick to his stomach but controlled it. Control. Keep that and he would be fine.

 Mordred.

 The waves crashed against rock. Agravaine’s mouth moved, and Merlin knew he was speaking. Knew everyone listened with irritation. Knew Arthur had shifted to partially block him from a direct route to Morgana or Mordred. He couldn’t look away from the ocean, from the man. The magic plucked at webs in the air. The small vibrations ran past him, rippling through the colours and leaving nothing in their place.

 The next thing he knew was the water splashing and pooling in the porcelain sink. The cool air of the bathroom. He put his hands into the stream, felt the water’s temperature. It was cold, but he couldn’t feel it. He knew it, but couldn’t feel it. Couldn't feel the water parting over his skin. Then washing over his whole body, rushing into his ears. Savage and uncontrolled, this water belonged to the sea. The memory of it folding over him, pushing him down as his body was shoved one way then the next by terrifying currents, consuming him. It was more than Mordred’s, more than anything existing in that lifetime. It was dark, and the waves were too ferocious to give him clear sight of the world above its surface. It stung in his throat, seared his lungs as he failed to breathe. It was inside him. He couldn’t fight it. Didn’t want to.

‘Merlin!’

 He drew in a sharp breath and found himself standing in the bathroom. The tap was turned on, his wet hands clamped around the basin’s edge.

‘Christ, I didn’t know about Mordred,’ Arthur said, entering the public bathroom. Merlin swallowed it all down, the ghost of that stinging water invading him, the final moments of his last life. ‘He’s been cleared by a bloody psychologist. According to that idiot the _real_ killers mentally manipulated him, and … I can’t believe they’re getting away with this.’

‘It’s fine, Arthur,’ Merlin breathed, twisting the metal tap off with his wet hand. He dried his hands, relishing the noise cancelling effect of the hand drier as it rolled the water off his skin, evaporating some of it as it blew hot air.

‘He tried to _kill_ you. Tried to,’ Arthur faltered, his eyes wide with anger and confusion.

‘Under the mental manipulation of serial killers,’ Merlin murmured, his mind successfully locking away the memory. It couldn’t lock out Mordred though.

‘Merlin, you know it’s all rubbish,’ he said, with concern coating the statement. Free of the drier's distraction Merlin put all of his attention onto Arthur.

‘We’ve tried to fight it. We failed. Now we need to play the game,’ he explained, hearing the coldness which infected his voice. ‘Adapt.’

‘You shouldn’t have to,’ Arthur whispered, reaching forward and taking Merlin’s face in his hands. Their warmth stunned him for a moment, before the twisting in his gut returned to distract him.

‘That doesn’t mean I won’t,’ he said bluntly before Arthur kissed him. The twisting grew worse, unbearable, and Merlin wanted to push away and never let him go at the same time. He felt so cold, and Arthur gave him heat. He drifted into it and then willed himself to pull away, lips brushing one last time before air swarmed in and walled them off from each other. Their hearts beat several times before Merlin asked, ‘Have forensics come back yet?’

‘Gwen should have the results,’ Arthur said, his breath heavy and lips shining. ‘She gave Gaius a call last night. The pathology report should be finished by now.’

‘Right, let’s go then,’ he said and didn’t pause before heading out of the bathroom.

 Arthur jogged up beside him. ‘You ignored me when I called for you to stop. When you left to get away from them. You vanished around the corner.’

‘Did I?’

‘It’s dangerous to use magic like that here, even with, you know,’ Arthur argued, but all Merlin could think about was how he couldn’t remember leaving to the bathroom. He didn’t respond and when they got back to the desks Morgana and Mordred were gone. Kilgharrah was watching Merlin with acute interest. To his dismay Agravaine remained and looked to him when he reached his own desk.

‘Glad to see you're back with us DS Emrys. I’ve recruited DC Vivian Maclain to assist on the Thornberry case. A fresh face always helps,’ he declared.

‘You mean somebody to report on how well we do our jobs,’ Gwaine said under his breath.

‘The Commissioner has questions about this task force, and with such attention from the media we need to show diligence. Be glad she’s a DC, the other option was one of the new direct Superintendents. Would have taken control of your entire team,’ he said, directing the last note towards Arthur and Merlin. ‘You would have outright rejected some ex-headteacher as a supervisor, I’m sure. Under the circumstances I appreciate the difficulty of the situation but you must understand that their reinstatements come from higher up on the food chain. Ah, DC Maclain.’

‘DS Arthur Pendragon?’ a woman questioned behind them and Merlin turned to see a familiar face. She was sweet, with fair hair and delicate features. Luminous. Her eyes riveted themselves upon Arthur, and then him. A hand was extended towards them. ‘Finally getting to see you in the flesh. I’m impressed.’

‘With Merlin or Arthur?’ Percy asked from the side.

‘Both,’ she said with a honey dipped smile. Arthur shook her hand first as Merlin stared at her in mild shock.

‘How long have you been in the Met?’ Arthur asked as they shook.

‘Four years,’ DC Maclain said. The handshake ended but she didn’t offer it to Merlin. ‘You, DS Pendragon?’

‘I need the name of the last senior investigating officer you worked with, DC Maclain,’ Arthur skirted the question, crossing his arms.

‘So you can check out my track record?’

‘I like to know what I’m working with,’ he said, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Merlin felt invisible next to the two golden haired officers. A horrible thought cut into his mind. They would look stunning together.

‘Want to make sure I have no suicidal tendencies?’

 Arthur frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Heard about DS Emrys’ stunt in the underground tunnels last year,’ she elaborated, showing her thorns as she now faced Merlin. Any glow in her skin vanished. ‘Got to say, it wasn’t a shining moment for the Met. No mask, and were you even wearing a suit?’

‘Merlin’s one of the best detectives at the Yard,’ Elyan defended.

‘ _Now_ he is,’ she pointed out. ‘If he weren’t he’d have lost his job months ago and had a show with a tribunal.’

‘Your point?’ Merlin snapped, hating the glint of satisfaction in her eyes. Of course. Sent by the Commissioner, she’d be judging him with a pathological eye.

‘I’m not your enemy. I’m here to help with the case, but also to make sure this team isn’t the money waster everyone thinks it is,’ DC Maclain said with ambivalence. Her light but depthless eyes turned to Arthur. ‘Do me and yourself a favour, Arthur? Drop the pissed boyfriend act and grow up. You all screwed up on a high profile case and you should be glad you’re not out on the street. Granted that might still happen, depending on what I see. Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be.’

‘Gaius sent over his report,’ Gwen broke in from her desk, and Merlin thanked her from the bottom of his heart. ‘You need to see this, Merlin.’

 He stepped away and read the report. ‘Burned? On the inside? No focal point. No source. His internal organs were completely destroyed, all blood vessels showing signs of scarring from fire, even the blood and tissue fluid evaporated. Bones, skin cells, everything else is intact and unaffected.’

 He trailed off, picturing Thornberry’s unscathed body in the study. Feeling that void, the inability to see what had happened. Definitely magic.

‘That’s impossible,’ DC Maclain remarked with an elegant frown.

‘It’s been a while since we’ve had a weird one,’ Leon said with a smile, leaping upon the perfect distraction from the weight of the earlier scene.

‘You’ll need to pay a visit to the Coroner’s Office,’ DCI Kilgharrah concluded, joining in with the discussion. ‘DC Emrys, if I could have a word with you?’

 Merlin turned to see him heading into his office, also catching sight of DC Maclain watching Arthur.

‘Notice how she called him Arthur? No longer DS,’ Gwen whispered, realising Merlin’s hesitation to leave.

‘Don’t really want to think about it,’ he murmured back and left to Kilgharrah’s office.

‘Merlin, I’ve got Morgana working with the Trident Command. She’ll be kept busy,’ Kilgharrah informed him when Merlin shut the door. He kept his hand wrapped around the handle, studying the subtle pattern running through the paint on the wall.

‘How?’ he asked after deliberation. ‘How the _hell_ did they get reinstated?’

‘I honestly don’t know.’

 Merlin’s hand relaxed, dropping down to his side while he turned to study the DCI instead. Those old eyes, the skin loose and creased around them. How it drooped down at the edges and gave the man a stare of melancholy. The wildness in the hairs of the eyebrows, striking up at an angle, a dying ash brown and immortalised silver mixed together.

‘Mordred’s working in a different department too,’ Kilgharrah went on. ‘Merlin. _Emrys_. You need to tread carefully. One wrong step and the public will eat you alive. The Commissioner won’t have to do anything, they’ll probably set him on fire for good measure.’

‘You’ve hardly said a word to me since Christmas, and now all you can give me are warnings and ignorance,’ Merlin said, his magic twitching in his veins.

‘I thought it would be best. Distance,’ he reasoned. Merlin could see the faint shapes of scales in the ageing pigmentation of Kilgharrah’s skin. They ran along his jaw line, temples.

‘You were my guide. I thought you’d help.’

‘I did try. You told me to only ever discuss police work with you,’ he reminded him bitterly. ‘You’re not a boy, Merlin. You’re not new to magic.’

‘Yes, I am. I was. Try having,’ he paused to count the years, ‘What? A good thousand years worth of living, minus a couple hundred maybe, all crammed into your brain over two days. See if you come out of it the same as when you went in.’

‘I thought it would come in stages, the memories.’

‘It didn’t. I remembered _dying_ , Kilgharrah,’ he snarled, the sensation of falling washing over him for a second. ‘I jumped. Off a cliff.’

‘Merlin,’ Kilgharrah sighed, but he’d held back the anger scratching at the inside of his skull and bones for months.

‘How fucked up is that? Eight hundred years, trying to help, to do something with my disgustingly old existence while I waited and still no Arthur,’ Merlin said, voice rough and growing louder. Catching himself he reeled it all in with a sigh of his own. ‘You know what? It doesn’t matter. I’m fine.’

‘I don’t know,’ Kilgharrah repeated.

‘You’ve said.’

‘Emrys, I don’t know why we’re back. It took all of my strength to shred the dragon and create a human form. I have no idea why this has happened, how we all ended up here, of all places. I am so sorry you had to remember your old life in that way,’ he explained, and Merlin took the apology, the acknowledgement of shared cluelessness, but it still left him on edge. All the colours of all the people in the world couldn’t distract him from it now.

‘Thank you for the conversation, DCI Kilgharrah,’ he mumbled, pushing the handle down.

‘I think you should tell Arthur,’ he suggested.

‘Never. I won’t do that to him,’ Merlin said without turning back and then the sourness surged up again and he looked at the ex-dragon. ‘Hell, you probably want to bite my head off for even letting them know I have magic, right?’

‘You really have grown up,’ Kilgharrah said lowly as Merlin left his office.

 Gwaine hung up on the phone when he came out. ‘Thornberry’s wife just got off the train back from Newcastle. Uniforms are holding her at St Pancras.’

‘How about we go fetch her? Informal interrogation. See if she was involved,’ he said, tucking away as many of the memories as he could. Scanning around for Arthur to approve the suggestion he came to no avail. It was habit only. He didn’t need approval. ‘Arthur?’

‘Oh, he and Maclain went to check the pathology report,’ Gwen supplied.

‘Great,’ Merlin huffed and gestured to Gwaine to come with him. The Irishman clapped him on the shoulder and offered a consoling smile.


	3. Monster

‘You want me to be a field agent?’

‘You’ve been in their nest before, Mordred. A victim, yes, but you’re not as emotionally … unstable as DS Emrys has become, and we need your experience,’ the Commissioner explained. Mordred still felt the icy blast of Merlin’s magic when they saw each other. He probably thought he was still enchanted. How could he know any different? The mask he wore was impeccable.

‘Will I be reporting to you?’ he questioned, lacing his hands together in his lap, feeling out of place in the office. Mordred faced one of the most powerful in the Met. Responsibility barely covered what he’d be feeling, no matter how appealing the thought was.

‘Gods no. You’ll have a supervisor within the Met Intelligence,’ the Commissioner said, drinking his tea peacefully. ‘After this I won’t know a thing about your individual movements, for security purposes. I am endorsing it, however.’

‘Do you think Old Religion will kill again, then?’

‘We’re going to stop them before that happens, Mordred,’ the Commissioner told him. ‘This will be an immersive role. No contact with anyone outside of your cover. You’ll be given a room to stay in for the duration of the task as well. Today you’ll be getting to know how it all works, your duties, the goals of this little operation, and tonight you’ll be saying goodbye to whomever.’

‘Goodbye?’

‘I doubt you’ll see anyone, or at least I hope you won’t. Indefinitely.’

‘Indefinitely,’ Mordred said, feeling the word on his tongue. Secret, get revenge, protect people. It was tempting, but death wasn’t. Not anymore.

‘We’ve lost a few agents already, Mordred,’ he elaborated, both hands wrapping around the mug. ‘You do accept this job, yes?’

A partly hysterical smile flashed onto his face. ‘Yeah, I accept.’

It was ridiculous. Ludicrous. His magic hummed in preparation. One mask for Morgana caused trouble as it was, and he was going to pull another one over that to trick an underground branch of Old Religion. Everything seemed clearer, the scent of tobacco poorly disguised, the old leather of the chairs, the tasteless age of dust resting on books in the shelves.

‘Your new supervisor is waiting outside,’ the Commissioner told him, and Mordred took his cue to stand, shake the ageing but strong hand, then leave.

 

 

## * * *

 

 

Gwaine finished some brief notes before he moved onto the question. ‘You left to visit your mother on Friday?’

‘Yes, she did,’ Mrs Thornberry’s sister snapped at him, squeezing her sibling’s shoulder from her seat on the sofa’s arm. Gwaine glanced up to her, then back down to Merlin who shared the actual sofa seats with their real suspect.

‘Do you know anything yet?’ Mrs Thornberry asked, the question left hanging in the room for anyone to answer if they could.

‘We’ve launched a full investigation,’ Merlin answered, to which she looked up with watery eyes. ‘We’ll find whoever did this.’

‘Why would anybody do this? Tommy never hurt anybody,’ she croaked out, squeezing her eyes shut and crying softly, leaning into her sister’s side.

‘Thank you for getting her to me,’ her sister said as she stroked arm.

Gwaine shut his notebook and tucked it into his pocket. ‘It was our pleasure.’

‘We don’t need to ask anything else right now,’ Merlin assured them and got to his feet. ‘We’ll have someone watch your house tonight.’

‘Thank you,’ her sister said again, Mrs Thornberry’s cries growing more desperate and unsightly.

Merlin marched to the front door and stepped into the cold air. The warmth had been sucked out of it after only four hours.

‘I hate doing that,’ Gwaine complained as they headed to their car.

‘And you work in the CID?’

‘I’m a man of many faces, what can I say?’

Merlin chuckled and pulled out his mobile to call Arthur.

‘DS Pendragon,’ he answered.

‘Anything new?’ Merlin queried as he got into the car, the fabric of the seats a welcome relief from the unusual texture of the sofa.

‘Besides Gaius’ gruesomely vivid explanation of human anatomy? No,’ Arthur said, the sarcastic tone not fading at all over the connection. ‘I think you were right about it being magic. This is no way natural. You don’t think Morgana-’

‘It wasn’t her or Mordred.’ Merlin had established that without any thought. Today had proved he’d recognise their presence anywhere.

‘Their timing is a bit-’

‘I know what their magic feels like. Used to feel like anyway,’ he said definitively, buckling the seatbelt as Gwaine pulled into the quiet street. ‘Trust me.’

‘Do you think your spell still holds?’ Arthur whispered.

‘That stops them from using any magic? There’s no way to know for sure unless they try using it. It’s been over sixth months,’ he said, trying to keep the concern from leaking into his voice.

‘You can sense it?’

‘You have no idea.’

‘I’m going to check the stuff pulled from his study,’ Arthur told him, needlessly, and Merlin heard him move around on the other side of their call. ‘Maclain’s already found something. Talk later?’

Merlin grit his teeth. ‘Yeah.’

He put away the mobile and shot Gwaine a poor smile.

‘How’re you doing with everything that’s happened?’ his friend pressed, leaving his full attention to the road and traffic.

‘Fine,’ Merlin murmured.

‘If you want me to give that dick a good punch, just say the word.’

He laughed. ‘Arthur?’

‘Meant Mordred, but him too if he really deserves it.’

‘Thanks for the offer,’ Merlin said through a smile. ‘I’ll let you know.’

‘You better.’

 

 

## * * *

 

 

The leather was soft on his skin as Arthur held the journal open. ‘He met with a reporter?’

He’d been trying to decipher the scratchy letters with no success, but DC Maclain insisted.

‘Same night he kicked it,’ she added, giving him an expectant stare.

‘How can you get that from these scribbles?’

‘My dad always wrote in shorthand. It’s pretty easy to figure out. They work for the Independent too,’ she explained, leaning forward and pressing her finger down on one of the messy markings. ‘See, “IDPT”. The main shapers of the word. “RPT”. Reporter.’

‘Huh. We need to tell DCI Kilgharrah, then bring them in. Voluntarily. We don’t have enough for an arrest.’

‘Do you always state the obvious? Or being careful to follow procedure? I heard that you were a man of action,’ she practically purred. ‘Impulsive, even.’

‘I’m just doing my job,’ Arthur said, closing the journal.

She beamed at him. ‘Sure you are.’

Their journey back couldn’t be any slower. Merlin’s words kept drumming up in his thoughts to the point DC Maclain’s voice became a senseless drone. _You have no idea. No idea. We failed. Adapt._ Merlin had been sleeping in their living room for four months, and every night in the bed alone was restless.

Small drops of rain hit his head as the two of them strode to Scotland Yard's entrance, the protection of the bus left behind. They had the team up to speed within ten minutes and five more gave them a name. Arthur was watching the red lines being painted onto the transparent surface as he added it to the board. _Play the game. Adapt._

‘It’s not his wife,’ Gwaine’s voice announced. Arthur turned and saw Merlin ambling towards them, droplets caught in his dark hair and sprinkled over his dark shoulders. Merlin avoided his gaze and ducked into his desk chair.

‘We have a new main suspect,’ DC Maclain chimed, moving to stand by him. ‘According to his boss he goes abroad a lot, documenting crises, but got back last week. Had a meeting booked with Thomas Thornberry the night of the murder.’

‘Not very bright, if he did it,’ Merlin said bluntly, bringing out a smile from Arthur.

‘We’re going to organise our own meeting with him,’ she continued. ‘Cause of death is still an issue. If the press catch wind of it, we have a problem. All the nut cases will be knocking on our doors.’

‘It’s an active case, we won’t reveal details anyway,’ Merlin remarked with the crease between his brows deepening.

DC Maclain smiled at Merlin, knives in her eyes. ‘Let’s keep it that way. We need a name for this whole operation as well.’

Arthur groaned.

‘We haven’t bothered with one before,’ Elyan argued.

‘Not something to be proud of. Names have power, and we need one for an investigation that will end up in some reporter’s hands or another’s. We’re interviewing one of their own, for goodness’ sake.’

‘Nova,’ Arthur suggested, refusing to leave the struggle up to the others. There were more important things to think about. _Play the game._

She faced him with her own frown. ‘Nova?’

It was nothing compared to Merlin’s.

‘Operation Nova. Guy was burned to death, but no external signs of it. Burning, but not,' Arthur tried to explain. 'Like a nova. Sort of.’

‘I like it,’ Gwen said and was met with nods and agreements.

Merlin nodded too. ‘It’s ambiguous enough.’

Gwaine cleared his throat. ‘What’s the reporter’s actual name? Failed to mention it.’

‘Oh,’ Arthur started, realising he’d been stood in front of it. He shifted. ‘Aredian.’

Merlin’s eyes widened, hands tightening their grip on the chair arms.

‘You alright, Merlin?’ Arthur asked.

‘Fine.’

Tapping the board marker against his palm he bit his tongue and pursed his lips, turning away from the lie to write the name up.

‘Good luck,’ Kilgharrah said as he opened his office door, a file in hand. Mordred was leaving it.

‘Thanks,’ the reinstated bastard returned. Arthur left the writing to follow his movements, saw him saunter away from the DCI then face their team. Mordred didn’t even notice him. Merlin took in a sharp breath and Arthur took a step towards him instinctively, but his dark blue eyes flashed the molten gold. Had he just used magic? On Mordred? Did Mordred do something to him? The bastard pulled a leather jacket on and walked away.

‘Where’s he going?’ Percy questioned, folding his thickly muscles arms.

‘Afraid I don’t know,’ Kilgharrah replied with a long pause. It wasn’t like the DCI to fall into silence. ‘He’s no longer working in homicide, so no longer under my jurisdiction. All for the better, I’m sure.’

‘Trying to avoid conflict?’ DC Maclain proposed. ‘DS Emrys is a grown man. Working with him shouldn’t be a problem, should it?’

‘It was the Commissioner’s choice, not yours, Vivian. I support his decision and that’s the end of it,’ Kilgharrah silenced her and Arthur felt a bubble of glee. ‘I want DS Emrys to conduct the interview with you. DS Pendragon, you’ll be watching. An audio and visual record is to be kept and this Mr Aredian needs to give his full consent. We will _not_ screw this up.’

Leon picked up a phone. ‘I’ll call their head office.’

‘Gwen, find anything in Thornberry’s mail that might help?’ Arthur asked, Leon having stepped away for the call, his voice quiet in the background.

‘Everyday admin, that’s all. Nothing helpful.’

‘Worth a shot.’

‘He’s scheduled to have a meeting with the editor at five,’ Leon updated them. ‘Until then he could be anywhere,’

‘Let’s find out everything we can about him then. We’ve got three hours,’ Arthur instructed.

‘This could spook him,’ DC Maclain said, her hands sitting on her hips. They were too wide.

Percy scoffed. ‘Isn’t that the point?’

‘He’s a reporter, so probably an expert at mind games,’ Merlin started. Everyone listened in silence. His voice had gained a gravity over the past few months. It was deeper, rougher, guttural almost. Arthur didn’t know if it made him sad, even more attracted to the man or if he simply didn’t care. _Adapt._ ‘It might be worth postponing direct contact. His boss will let him know we’ve been asking about him. Whatever his next step is might give us something more conclusive.’

‘What if that next step is killing someone else?’ Gwaine countered in an inappropriately jovial tone.

‘He might not be the killer,’ DC Maclain reminded them all.

‘I’ll arrange for a surveillance team to keep tabs on him from the meeting onwards, and somebody from this task force will always be in contact with them,’ Arthur concluded before drawing up the ‘NOVA’ at last. He took a second to study their board. Second day in and it was going well. OPERATION NOVA. VICTIM: THOMAS THORNBERRY. MAIN SUSPECT: AREDIAN. C.O.D: INCONCLUSIVE. All he could really think was _Merlin_. Missing him. The desperate passion in the kiss which collapsed into that distance in his eyes. Arthur knew something was changing again. Merlin’s ongoing lies and secrets, Maclain, Merlin’s moving out. That bastard and Morgana back. It all spelled something catastrophic. Perhaps he’d just become a cynic.

 

 

## * * *

 

 

Mordred came up to the dark double door entrance. Next to it the french bistro, La Petite Auberge, had people laughing and candlelight spilling over into the street. The hazy amber hue signalled the ending of the day and he knew it meant the ending of something else. Up the stairs he climbed, down the hallway, into the new flat.

Morgana’s slender arms were hanging up a framed painting above the square of a fireplace. Flames inside it flickered with the wind swirling into the room from the open balcony doors.

‘Mordred,’ she said, craning her head to face him with a smile. Hair pinned up behind her head with a few loose curls framing her face. It seemed gentle. He grit his teeth. She wasn’t gentle. Not after what she’d done. Destroyed. ‘When’s the last time you shaved?’

‘It’s been a while. Thought I’d try it out,’ Mordred answered running his fingers across the bristles decorating his jawline.

‘Looks good,’ Morgana complimented. She hooked the painting up and gave it a once over. ‘They’ve assigned me to Trident.’

He waited at the door. ‘Gang crime?’

‘Yup. Since it’s such controversial stuff and the public’s taken a shine to me, they thought it might help. Keeps me away from Arthur and the rest of them, too,’ she explained, tucking a curl behind her ear. He felt her magic snake towards him but it didn’t invade or attempt to. It floated around him, like static in the air. ‘How about you? You seem preoccupied.’

‘I’m joining a specialist task force,’ he replied, recalling the countless conversations he’d had that day. ‘Counter-terrorism. Training starts immediately.’

Her smile faltered. ‘Oh.’

‘They’ve given be an hour to grab essentials, then I’m moving to the Academy’s accommodation,’ he finished, stepping back into the doorway. He hadn’t done much unpacking since moving into the place a week earlier.

‘But I just got back,’ Morgana said, the usual power and arrogance hiding somewhere for the time being. ‘ _We_ just got back.’

‘The rent for this place is still covered, so don’t worry about that.’

‘How long? How long will you be gone?’

Her entire demeanour had shifted. It put him on edge. ‘No idea.’

‘Why didn’t you say no?’

‘You know what they say happened to me. Manipulated, kidnapped, escaped,’ he listed, replacing his bitterness with a joking tone. It took effort. ‘Wouldn’t follow my psychological profile if I rejected the proposal, would it?’

She couldn’t reject the logic. ‘Can you come back to visit?’

‘You know how it works. For such high level training it’s an isolated thing. I’ll call though. It’s not permanent either, so,’ Mordred said, running a hand up his own forearm, comforting himself. He was entering a tangle of lies that would be hard to get out of if caught. ‘This will give a good breathing period before we get any projects rolling.’

The look of loss in her green eyes dissipated. ‘I can’t have any fun while you’re gone?’

‘No. You can’t.’

‘Not even messing with Merlin?’

‘That’s my job. Arthur’s fair game, though,’ he reminded her, fighting hard against the agony of seeing Merlin’s hurt expression when he'd seen him that morning. ‘Well, I’ve got to pack. Shouldn’t take too long. I like the painting by the way.’

Morgana rushed into him, arms encasing him in a hug. ‘Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done without you. Can’t believe I’m even saying that.’

His magic slammed up extra defences before he reciprocated the embrace, noting her faint smell of flowers. ‘Why not?’

‘I never thought my enchantment would lead to a genuine friend, not just a means to an end,’ she murmured pulling away. Mordred hid his bafflement behind a fake smile. ‘After all, it didn’t take away your will.’

‘The spell?’

‘Yeah. It only fed off what was already inside you,’ Morgana said, her hand falling down to hold his own. His skin crawled. The triumphant cruelty he’d felt radiate off her for the last two days was nowhere to be found. She was earnestly telling him he had the monster inside him without her help. It stung. ‘Within the realm of possibilities. I regret the pain it put you through but … It all worked out in the end.’

He took his hand back. ‘I’ve got to go.’

‘Let me help?’

Mordred’s head was spinning and he tried to rope it down with any magic he could spare. Her touches lingered on his body, the static, the anger, matched with her disturbing fragility. Morgause’s death had changed her differently in this lifetime. Had she remembered the past as well? Was her shift in behaviour, a possible façade, the result of remembering it all? ‘Sure.’

  


‘Did she believe you?’

‘Yes,’ Mordred answered as he ducked into the car waiting outside the flat. She believed her spell held, and that he was training for counter-terrorism. Surreal didn’t cover how he felt as his new supervisor, Aglain, drove him away into the night.

‘We’ll drop you off at the hotel, then you need to head to the tracks and get noticed,’ the man informed him, street lights flashing into the car as they sped away, highlighting his dark-skin and sharply angled eyebrows.

‘Just need to grab their attention, at night, by railway tracks, do I?’

‘Bring up something only Old Religion know about,’ Aglain said, ignoring his meagre attempt at lightening the mood. Met Intelligence seemed to be weighed down by an unfair sense of responsibility and importance. For good reason, but still.

‘Surprised you haven’t interrogated me about that,’ Mordred noted, fiddling with the strap of the bag he held on his lap. It wasn’t as full as he’d expected, but then with magic it became irrelevant. Magic. That was something Old Religion knew a lot about. It was almost sad how out of the loop the Intelligence officers were.

‘Human rights. Psychologists argued it would break you. We still have a use for you though, and that information.’

‘Clearly,’ he muttered. ’ Will you be watching?’

‘No. They’re too dangerous for that. We still don’t know how they killed their past victims, or what happened to the operatives we lost. You’ll wear a small microphone to give us audio at least,’ Aglain said, and Mordred took a mental note. He’d need to disable the connection.

‘Do you have any clue what happens once I gain their interest?’

‘It might be better if you don’t know,’ Aglain said and Mordred smiled. They had no idea.

‘It’ll make my performance more convincing, right?’

‘Precisely,’ Aglain agreed, slowing down and changing gears as they turned onto a new road. ‘We’ll call your room at the Shelton hotel tomorrow morning, seven a.m. sharp. Make sure you pick up.’

Mordred left the company of his supervisor and got his room at the Shelton hotel. Throwing the bag down to the floor he took in the small area, with simple furnishings and clean smell. One of the better places he’d stayed in the last six months. He read through the information they’d gathered so far, of dramatically decreased crime and missing persons reports all pointing towards something scaring and taking people.

Trains scraped past on the Great Northern tracks, the vibrations running through to the building. Mordred amplified the sound in his own mind to block out the fighting couple in the room next to his. The entire area had been investigated but the source of the strange behaviour, disappearances, was never found. Flipping the file shut he dropped it onto the bed and got up with the goal clear in his mind.

When his foot hit the pavement outside the hotel and he took his first breath of the cool night air Mordred began to pulse out waves of magic. He was going to find them. Ruin them.


	4. The Edge Of Fire

 The ground was cast in shadow, most lamps having died long ago. Trains barraged along the old steel tracks to his left, elevated just enough that no one could notice him. His boots trod in dirt and crunched against some gravel from the tracks. A crunch sounded behind him. He could hear their breaths as they followed him. Five? No. Six of them. Male. His magic brought back their aroma of alcohol, smoke and something else. Something sharper, stronger. Drugs?

‘Hey!’ one bellowed at him and he stopped walking. Ahead he could see a bridge masked in the gloom of night, could hear running water of a river below ground. Train wheels screeched past and shook the air. ‘You lost?’

 They circled round him. Mordred felt nothing in them. No magic. Defenceless.

‘That’s a nice coat you got there,’ a different one said, hitting his friend in the arm to grab his attention. Mordred sighed, waiting for them to finish.

‘Don’t bother,’ he told them. ‘Haven’t got any money, cards, anything. It’d be a waste of energy.’

‘Sounds posh too,’ one jeered at him and sniggered.

‘Mistake one, being out and about at this hour,’ the first one started. Mordred saw his long face within the darkness of the hood. Saw the misshapen nose, the childish features. Young. Too young to be acting so stupidly. ‘Mistake two, wondering into _our_ territory.’

 A burst of laughter escaped him. ‘Territory?’

‘You laughing at me?’ the too young boy demanded, breaking away from the circle he and his friends had formed. He walked to stand one foot from Mordred’s face. The foul breath made him want to gag. ‘You think you have the _right_ to laugh at me?’

‘Sorry for the offence,’ he said calmly, softly and lifted his hands up in the air. The leading one jutted his chin up and out. ‘I’ll be on my way.’

 He aimed to the right of the bad breathed leader but wiry fingers snatched handfuls of his jacket from behind and held him in place. The sneering compatriots swarmed in and he kicked out only to have strong arms lock around his legs and hoist him off the ground as another one wrenched Mordred’s head back using his hair. Scalp screaming at him the magic flashed but Mordred forced it back. Too young. They were normal. He couldn’t.

 His back hit the dirt, all breath forced from his lungs. A foot stomped down onto his stomach and stopped him from taking in more oxygen, then one rammed into his side. Gravel cut into his head and Mordred automatically went to cover his aching stomach when he was tugged up to have a fist crash into his face, knuckles breaking with the bone of his nose as his head whipped back. Pain branched out and his eyes squeezed shut. A hand clamped down over his mouth and it surged. A stranger’s magic touched his own. Old Religion had found him. Why now? He couldn’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t. He did anyway. He had to.

 Magic soaked the agony wracking his body and Mordred spun, hand grabbing the man’s face and ramming it into the ground. Bone cracked, and Mordred’s magic splintered out into the earth. A shock wave ripped through the air and blast the other five backwards. Gusts of wind cut around him. Some still conscious went to run but he sent the winds crashing down onto them with a thunderclap.

 Mordred felt fissured ribs sew themselves back to health, the internal bleeding draw back to where it belonged as tissues stitched themselves up. Felt the blood coating his teeth, gums, tongue and his magic die away. It left six boys on the ground, dead and alive, with their own blood. They were too still. Too silent. A train boomed past.

‘Wonderfully executed,’ a woman said stepping up next to him. His limbs, mind, all felt numb. ‘Mordred, isn’t it?’

 He looked at her. Astonishing eyes that glowed in the dark like a felines. He wrapped his magic around himself again, concealing everything he could. ‘Do you know me?’

‘Everyone knows you. We kidnapped you, or so the news says,’ she said with a peculiar grin.

 Mordred wiped the blood from under his nose. ‘I heard.’

‘Why did you come here tonight?’

 Her power felt odd. Irregular. ‘Retribution?’

‘You’re close to the witch Morgana. Her kind seek equality, not revenge,’ she argued, testing his determination.

‘There’s your answer then,’ Mordred said with a shadow of a smile.

‘The police don’t suspect either of you?’

‘They don’t even know magic exists.’

‘We’ll have to change that, won’t we?’

 Her gaze was glued to him, never wavering, not even blinking. He suppressed the trembling in his hands. Ignored the bodies scattered around him. They had to trust him. ‘Take my hand.’

 He had to.

 They dispersed into billions of particles, coursing through the moving train, everything standing in their way, until they materialised again. A long narrow hallway stretched out in front of him, several rooms running down the right side, some doors open, some closed. Rubbish layered the floor, boards blocked broken windows and naked bulbs hung from a rotting ceiling. She led him forward, and through each door he saw a scene just as horrifying as the last.

‘What is this place?’ he whispered.

‘This is where most magic users end up,’ she said. ‘Drugs do it mostly.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s the only way they can suppress their powers. Bottling it all up to try and fit in. If left un-nurtured magic corrupts, Mordred. They don’t learn how to defend themselves as you just did,’ she explained, stopping and letting Mordred watch a girl push down on a plunger. He could see the chemicals stream into her veins, feel her relief as it corroded away her life. ‘The Old Religion once sought recognition, but what happened in the New Year proved how that isn’t possible. So, we have a new agenda.’

‘Which is?’

‘War.’

 

## * * *

 

 Arthur was doing up his tie when Merlin got back to the flat.

‘I brought croissants,’ Merlin announced coming through the front door, holding them up as proof. The blankets he’d left lying haphazardly on the sofa had been folded neatly on one of the seats.

‘You were out early,’ Arthur remarked, picking up his coffee from the table, back turned away from Merlin.

 He put the pastries down next to him, reaching to take Arthur’s hand before his own hand dropped back to his side with a second though to the action. ‘There was a viewing.’

‘Where?’

‘St Stephens Gardens in Notting Hill,’ he answered, eyeing his fellow DS. His king. His past. ‘It’s a pretty nice place but won’t be on the market for long.’

‘Gonna go for it?’ Arthur asked, and Merlin noted the gloom clinging to Arthur, dulling the colours which had always been brightest of them all. It had been growing over the last few months, and Merlin pressed his lips together. He knew why. He was why.

‘The agent’s going to wait until the end of the day, see if there are better offers, but if not,’ he forced out softly, hating how Arthur kept staring into the coffee.

 He looked up. ‘Do you think we should mention the whole magic thing to DC Maclain?’

‘She wouldn’t believe us even if we did,’ Merlin said, his eyebrows pinching together at the sudden shift in conversation.

‘You could show her.’

‘You know I can’t do that.’

‘The rest of the team knows.’

‘They’re different,’ he exclaimed. ‘They had to know.’

‘And she doesn’t have to? We can’t pursue this case properly while cause of death is a mystery,’ Arthur continued, hiding his face behind the black sheen of the mug.

‘You’re asking me to expose my magic to a complete stranger,’ Merlin reiterated, the disbelief adding a sharp edge to each syllable. ‘Who knows how she might react.’

 He slammed the mug down, the hard thunk painful to hear. ‘What other option do we have?’

‘Arthur, what’s wrong?’

 The searing blue eyes drilled into him. ‘You.’

‘Me?’ he breathed.

‘You’re not the same. You’re not the Merlin I know,’ Arthur accused, his hand fanned open and gesturing at him before running through his blond hair. ‘You’re withdrawn, secretive, so bloody serious all the fucking time. What happened? If it wasn’t Mordred, wasn’t the trial, then what? I’m sick of waking up to find you gone, of never being able to joke or smile with you. Please. What happened? What happened when you disappeared that weekend?’

 Merlin made the mistake of trying to soothe him with his magic. The contact channelled back barbed wires of anger and pain. They coiled around him, amplified his own confusion, his suffocating memories. He couldn’t speak.

‘Are we over?’

‘No,’ Merlin croaked out, ignoring the burning behind his eyes. ‘No, it’s just, I don’t know. It’s complicated, unbelievably complicated and I don’t know how to deal with it. Any of it.’

‘Let me help,’ Arthur pleaded.

‘You can’t,’ Merlin rasped out. The pain he felt, how could he give that to Arthur? Watch him recall the years of betrayal, of wars and dying?

‘Should have guessed,’ he said, leaving the air between them acrid, stinging Merlin’s eyes further. ‘Thanks for breakfast.’

 He grabbed one of the croissants and head towards the door.

‘Arthur.’

 The door slammed shut.

 His mobile vibrated violently and he answered the call with a swipe of his thumb.

‘Merlin Emrys?’ a familiar voice queried. ‘We’d love to rent the flat to you, if you still want it.’

 The agent. Looking to the back of the door Merlin found himself nodding to no one. ‘I’m happy to take it. I can pay the deposit later today.’

 

## * * *

 

 Arthur massaged his temples. ‘Did Aredian do anything?’

‘Nothing,’ Leon said, ‘but he’s the only one left with no alibi.’

‘A prime suspect due to circumstance. Still no motive,’ Vivian said, arms crossed. An sluggishness possessed them all, and Arthur hoped it wasn’t his own foul mood which pervaded and affected them. Operation Nova was only on its third day, and they had to maintain momentum.

‘Maybe there wasn’t one,’ Merlin murmured. Arthur shivered. The depth of Merlin’s voice had descended another level, as had the contemplative look in his eyes. It dropped further when drifting off in thought as he was now. It was hateful. His chest ached and his hands yearned to hold the man but it would never happen. He couldn’t help him. Merlin had shut him out.

‘That’s a scary thought,’ Gwaine said, standing up to survey the boards. His eyes met Arthur’s with question. He had a knack for picking up on when he and Merlin had fights. ‘How about some intrusive surveillance?’

 Arthur sat up a little straighter. ‘You want to go into the target’s home?’

‘There’s not much else we can do and there could be something hidden away in his sock drawer for all we know,’ he said with a shrug. Percy stifled a chuckle.

‘DS Pendragon, you’ll need to comment on the Old Religion case, including Morgana and your father’s death. You’ve been avoiding it, but with her reinstatement you can’t dodge it any longer. Obviously DC Maclain will need to make an appearance so the public can rest assured we’re keeping everyone in line,’ DCS Agravaine intruded upon their planning. Arthur bit the inside of his cheek, a childish part oh himself screaming in refusal somewhere in the back of his mind. ‘DCI Kilgharrah, we need to have a word later. Right now, Pendragon, Maclain, come with me. Gwaine, why don’t you and Merlin set everything up and take a look tonight? I want the rest of you combing through Thornberry’s financial records, interviewing everyone. We can’t afford to put all our eggs in one basket.’

 Arthur and Maclain were sped away by the DCS, Morgana joining them as they walked. He hadn’t seen her walking towards them. Twice now they’d used magic and he couldn’t be sure. Merlin with Mordred, Morgana just then. He was losing grip of fact and suspicion and it was driving him mad.

‘You know what the statement is?’ DCS Agravaine asked when they all stood in the lift.

‘Why wouldn’t they?’ Morgana said with a wicked smile and took Maclain’s hand to shake. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Morgana La Fey.’

‘I thought it was Pendragon?’ the DC bit back.

‘After everything, the murder of my father,’ she trailed off. Arthur’s entire body felt off. The urge to hit his head against a wall almost overcame him. Two loathsome and irritating people, one on each side, and he was trapped between them. Trapped. ‘I felt like a change.’

‘Of course you would,’ Maclain agreed in her too chirpy tone.

 The lift doors opened and DCS Agravaine led them out. ‘I hope you’re all prepared for the wolves.’

‘Their not that bad, Agravaine,’ Morgana said with a playful grin.

‘Not to you. You’re the heroic victim. We’re the evil, nefarious villains in the tale,’ he grumbled, and for once Arthur didn’t question the man. A rare moment.

‘How poetic,’ she said. ‘The Press Conference will be starting soon. I’ve got a car waiting outside to take you all.’

‘You’re not coming?’ Maclain asked as they stepped out into the sunshine.

‘I have some matters to attend to beforehand. I’ll probably catch the tail end of it,’ she explained. Arthur did his best to block them all out but Morgana caught his arm and held him back as the rest headed to the car. ‘You haven’t said a word to me.’

‘What’s there to say?’ he said sourly, shaking her arm off.

‘How about hello?’

‘You made your choice. Ruin our family, destroy Merlin. Scratch that, _kill_ him,’ Arthur growled. ‘There’s nothing to say.’

‘You don’t understand. You can’t,’ she insisted and he felt winded. Just like Merlin. Assuming he couldn’t help, couldn’t understand.

‘I don’t care.’

‘You should start to. Anything you hate about me, even Mordred, is also inside Merlin,’ Morgana said in a hushed tone. He couldn’t see the madness in her eyes as he had at Christmas. Something had replaced it. Once he thought he knew his sister. Once they’d shared toys and sorrows, shared victories. Years later she stood a stranger who seemed desperate for something. Her cheeks were flushed with colour again, and her smiles lacked acid. Yet Morgana was telling him that Merlin was just like her. That madness, cruelty, the bastard’s obsession. He’d never believe it.

‘He’s not a psychopathic killer,’ he said in dispute.

‘Really? How can you be so sure?’ she pressed. ‘Magic corrupts and rather than accept it he denies it. You deny it. He plays the Detective Sergeant, the boyfriend, the innocent, and you play along with him.’

 Once he’d known Merlin. ‘Let’s just get this over with.’

‘Has he even spoken to you about his magic? About Mordred-’

‘You will _not_ talk about him in front of me,’ Arthur snarled, rounding on her. She recoiled. ‘Don’t say his name _ever_ again. Not in front of me.’

 

 

 White light blinded him as a room full of reporters watched eagerly. Camera flash after camera flash. Then the recordings and questions began.

‘Do you think your false accusations against Morgana La Fey scared Old Religion into hiding?’

‘It’s more likely they’ve finished their cycle and have taken it as an opportunity to halt all actions,’ Arthur said, gritting his teeth.

‘So you have no idea who, or where, they could be?’

‘The Metropolitan Police has not paused its hunt for these killers,’ he answered sharply. ‘We will find them. Next question.’

 A thin man with brown hair stood. ‘What reprimands are being taken on the CID? On DS Emrys?’

‘DC Vivian Maclain has been assigned to their team as a way of ensuring there is no incompetency,’ DCS Agravaine weighed in. ‘A full report will be given on their actions, on the case’s progression, any aspect you can think of.’

‘Is it true that DS Emrys and officer Mordred Leir were romantically involved during the Old Religion case?’ someone blurted out.

‘What?’ DC Maclain said, looking at Arthur with surprise. His head swam with the blinding flashes, the questions.

‘No,’ DCS Agravaine answered. ‘False allegations serve to stir things up, but they won’t help us catch Old Religion, nor will it besmirch DS Emrys’ sterling record.’

 From the corner of his eye he saw Morgana outside the door’s window. She remained there as they tackled each new query until they were finally able to step down from the stage. Outside, Arthur rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves, gulping down the bottle of water they’d provided. It was cold, precious. Nausea dripped into his stomach and mind, heart rate off beat.

‘Arthur,’ Vivian beckoned when she finished talking to DCS Agravaine. He wondered over to her, dropping the empty bottle into a bin. ‘Do you want to get a drink? That was one of the most brutal conferences I’ve ever had, and I wasn’t the one being questioned for three hours.’

 Her eyebrows were neat, arching slightly. Fine and elegant compared to Merlin’s untamed equivalent. Arthur felt exhausted, sick, angry. Vivian was practically glowing at him, waiting for his answer and he had to think about it, he had to, after all he had Merlin but then again after that morning’s show he wasn’t too sure about that. Did he have Merlin? Did he even want him, untamed, secretive, dark and attractive Merlin when Vivian watched with her small unimportant gaze, her gold hair, her thin-lipped smile?

‘I’d love to.’

 

## * * *

 

‘So when’s he supposed to come back?’ Merlin said as he took a last bite of a sandwich. They’d parked across the street from Aredian’s townhouse, its grandeur undeniable even if surrounded by identical fronts along the whole street. The fear felt centuries ago crept back into his skin and Merlin undid his seatbelt with determination.

‘Should be sitting down for dinner with the editor in five minutes. I’d say we’ve got a good two hours,’ Gwaine surmised, balling up the wrapper of his own quick meal. ‘Time for some morally ambiguous police work.’

 Merlin chuckled and climbed out with his partner for the night. The sky was shot through with a deep blue of the dying light and street lamps already beamed down. Gwaine jogged up the steps, his hands subtly working the picks into the lock. He looked back at Merlin to wink just as the door clicked open.

‘We’re in,’ he whispered back and pulled on some gloves. Merlin did the same and they went in. Gwaine pulled out his phone and began taking pictures. Merlin was in awe of the luxury embedded in each furniture choice, wallpaper, the paintings hanging from the walls. Down the narrow hallway he stepped, quietly and slowly. Everything seemed blurred by the lack of proper light, but there was enough to see by.

‘I’ll take upstairs,’ Merlin murmured, climbing the stairs gently. It was clean, delicate, and he could smell the history of the house, of Aredian. Exotic scents from foreign countries, tables adorned by ornaments made from hand blown glass of every colour. He could almost feel the hands of people across the world shaping the clay of pots scattered around the place too, feel the heat of the furnaces blasting out into strange air he’d never personally know, times he’ll never know.

 The next room had no ornaments besides the books and articles stacked up neatly on the bedside table. Merlin searched the drawers, nudging his magic about the room but coming up with nothing.

 The front door lock sounded downstairs. Ice swept through him. He froze. Merlin tried to feel Gwaine in the house but he was gone, back outside. He hadn’t had time to warn Merlin. Dropping to the wood of the floor Merlin slid under the bed. The wooden stairs creaked as someone ascended. Silently swearing Merlin shoved the camera into his jacket’s pocket and cupped a hand over his mouth and nose, hoping to stifle the noise. Would Aredian know if he used magic? Could he risk it? Could he risk not using it?

 His heart was pounding in his chest, every limb feeling airy with the adrenaline. Smart shoes walked into the room, then golden light flooded it as a light was turned on. Merlin’s face felt hot with his breath blowing back against it. His chin was pressed against the wooden panels with the bed’s frame resting only inches above his body. Aredian opened his wardrobe, pulling clothing out and throwing it onto the bed. They thumped softly onto the duvet.

‘I have no intention of undressing with you hiding there. Stand up or I’m calling the police,’ Aredian said, his voice a sore memory to Merlin. He rather inelegantly climbed out and got to his feet, staring at the witchfinder with a bed the only thing between them. ‘How did you get into my house?’

‘Picked the lock,’ he replied, breathing in the cooler air with relief.

‘Why? You don’t look like a thief,’ the man, reporter, killer asked him. His gaze was piercing, mouth set firmly and each word articulated with precision and poise, with power.

‘Does it matter?’

‘Yes. When a stranger breaks into my home at night and takes to searching through my things I like to think it matters,’ Aredian asserted, loosening his tie and placing it down on the bureau. He stepped around the bed towards him. ‘Especially when they’re abominations.’

 Merlin’s heart hammered his ribs, any security from his magic strangled. The void he’d seen at Thornberry’s seemed to tumble out of Aredian, his presence draining him of any strength. Aredian was different from the last life. He had power.

‘You’re riddled with it, and now it’s clinging to my home,’ he continued, his crushing focus trained on Merlin who backed away as far as possible. ‘As far as people are concerned you do not exist. You’re a fiction in the modern world. There’s no place for your kind. Tell me why I shouldn’t purge you right now?’

 A lifeless terror soaked his body which closed the last space left. Rough fingers rubbed against the skin of his neck, the warm hand pressing Merlin further back against the wall.

‘That’s what you did to Thomas Thornberry, wasn’t it? _Purged_ him,’ Merlin said, ignoring the discomfort of the scalding emptiness oozing into him, the edge of fire licking his skin. Aredian’s grip tightened, fingertips pressing with dangerous force into his skin. The blood in his veins pumped against the pressure. ‘Wouldn’t do that if I were you.’

‘Oh? Why shouldn’t I?’

‘There’s a police officer parked in front of your house. I’m expected,’ he rasped. ‘Finding a corpse wouldn’t look good for you.’

 Aredian gave him a tight lipped smile. The heat blew away from his skin as the hand pulled away. The witchfinder moved out of his way.

‘Better be on your way then, Merlin, and don’t come back,’ he warned. ‘I never forget a face.’


	5. Shadows

 Merlin kept his pace steady as he left. No running. He wouldn't give Aredian the satisfaction. The throbbing in his temples returned as he stepped out of the house and shut the door, thrumming in harmony with each pulse of his erratic heart. It only calmed once he fell into the passenger's side seat, leaving the fear running cold and heavy in his veins.

 Gwaine had the car running already.

'Shit, Merlin,' he exclaimed. 'What happened?'

'He knows the police are investigating him. Silver lining is that he's *definitely* our killer,' Merlin huffed, pulling on the seatbelt and resting his head back. He couldn't separate the scared memory of his Camelot life from the current one, leaving him with two Aredians to feed his paranoia, to make his hairs stand on end.

'You know that because?'

'He's a hunter,' he said, watching the shadows shift in the windows of the townhouse. Aredian was at home in the shadows. Then again, so was he.

 Gwaine put on his own seatbelt. 'Hunter? Like those rich government twats wanting to hunt foxes?'

'Not foxes,' Merlin said, looking at Gwaine with a bitter ghost of a grin. 'Witches. People with magic.'

'Does he know-'

'Probably knew the second he opened the door,' he said. He'd been so stupid, using his magic so freely to experience the place. He couldn't be stupid like that again.

'Sorry about running out on you like that. Had to think on my feet,' his friend said, the genuine regret soothing Merlin's nerves. Genuine affection and concern. He cherished it.

'It's okay, Gwaine,' Merlin muttered, then added with a bigger smile, 'I'd have done the same.'

'Have some common sense then? Well, we can't charge him with anything without evidence.'

'With no murder weapon and magic involved it's practically impossible.'

'Old Religion all over again.' Gwaine groaned. 'How do you feel about paying the pub a casual visit? Gwen's out with Lance right now and invited us along.'

'We're in the middle of an investigation,' Merlin said with a disapproving glare.

'Which we apparently can't do anything about. So, we'll drink away our sorrows. Agreed?'

'We have work tomorrow-'

'Merlin,' Gwaine said with a glare of his own. 'You haven't had a night out in months.'

'And tonight's the night, is it? Can't this wait until Friday?'

'If you really don't want to then fine. I'm going though, and I happen to be driving,' he said as he pulled into the street and picked up speed. 'I also refuse to drop you off.'

'I'm your captive, am I?'

'You could walk, but it's dangerous out there, Merlin,' Gwaine informed him with a mocking look of concern. 'I recommend, for safety's sake, that you join me and some friends for a harmless night of fun.'

'I hate to agree with you,' Merlin started, feeling the smile push up into his cheeks.

'I know you do.'

 He tired to drown out the fear, the pain, to leave Gwaine's mischievous grin in their place. It didn’t work. The fear covered him as totally as his own skin did. 'But you make a good point.'

 

* * *

 

'What are we doing here?' Mordred asked Nimueh. She'd taken the day to test his powers, demonstrate her own. It had been horribly intimate and unnerving, and he'd struggled to keep his ploy running. Left in the company of a High Priestess of the Old Religion for over twelve hours didn't help any lingering stresses or worries. From abandoned warehouse to empty car park they journeyed and Mordred's mind was groggy with the cement and rubbish polluting it. Now they approached the wrought iron fence lining a road at close to three in the morning.

 She glanced back at him. 'Don't you trust me?'

'I don't know you,' he said, joining her by the barrier. Street lamps let orange light saturate the night air and define shadows in the crevices of the bridge held up with thick cement feet. It was a cold, grey beast in the dusky haze of artificial light.

'You trust the people you know?' Nimueh asked him, palms pushing against the metal bars of the fence.

'No.'

'Trust anyone at all?'

He paused. 'Not really.'

'You might survive this then. The only way to trust is to have the same wants and needs. Goals. That's why I trust you, Mordred,' she said, her feral eyes clawing at his features. 'We both want those who would harm our kind gone. Retribution.'

'Why have I only spoken to you, if you trust me?' he questioned, his magic seeping into each pore to protect him from her penetrating gaze. His body ached with weariness and he wanted to sleep, he truly did, but this was too important to give in. He drew in a lungful of the chilled air to wake himself up. 'You're keeping me away from the other members of Old Religion.'

'You're different,' she drawled out. 'You're what will bring them all hope. Bring me hope. There's a plan already at work and we won't suffer much longer.'

'Right,' Mordred murmured. 'You still haven't told me what we're doing here.'

 She raised her arm, directing his stare towards the bridge. 'Bring it down. Quietly.'

'The Hammersmith Flyover. You want me to,' his words faltered, alarm stabbing into every sense. They'd played with the elements, conjured shapes from dust and twisted the sunlight into something so much more, but they hadn't done anything harmful. Not once the whole day. 'Thousands of people use it everyday, let alone the roads under it. With the closure this weekend it's even busier than usual. You can't be serious.'

'It's decaying,' Nimueh remarked, arm dropping and a devious smile pulling up in its place. 'They plan to build a tunnel in its place. Why not help them?'

'No, I-'

 He looked at it with wide eyes, with horror. He'd left boys lying dead to maintain his cover, he'd begun to sacrifice his own sanity by persevering through the day's trials with her. Mordred could feel the mangled echoes of his enchanted self who gnashed his teeth at the opportunity to hurt, who relished it. He'd killed him. Killed that Mordred. Now he had to endanger his recovered heart and mind. Was it worth it? Lie, join, destroy. Aglain's stern but understand words from the night before came to him. _We need them to trust you. Whatever they have planned is horrific. Five of our people have already died trying to get to where you are now. You need to gain their trust, Mordred. No matter what it costs._  It was worth it.

 Nimueh stepped back. Mordred studied the bridge, the construction's faults and strengths. The power coiled and grew in his chest, snaked down his arms.

 Throwing them outward the magic whipped out and freed itself, white-hot as it flew. It crashed into the cement, rupturing it with millions of fissures and cracks. Rubble and dust rose up as the structure waited, hanging in the air, one whole shattered into countless pieces. The weight of it strained Mordred's muscles, each fracture cutting through the asphalt also cutting into his mind. The deep sound of its breaking that had threatened to escape had been absorbed into a layer of his magic which blanketed the destroyed mass like thin film. It sounded unmuffled in his head, deafening him despite reality's silence.

 Lowering his arms the pain lessened and the cement, asphalt, all crumbled down onto the roads below. Lifting the film of magic the dust blew out, the orange light muddied to a greyish brown before that too settled.

 Mordred turned his back on the sight. 'Feel like sharing your well intentioned plan?'

'That rather depends on you, Mordred,' she said, eyes almost reflective in the shade of the overhanging tree. They mirrored the ruin he'd created. 'I trust you, but like you said: you don't trust me. Not yet that is.’

 

* * *

 

 The vicious winds rushed against his wet skin, hands breaking free of the chopping waters. Salty water rinsed his mouth as his head rose out and he spluttered, drawing in as much air as he could. Body rocked one way then the next by the currents, he was sealed in a raging ocean. Thunderclouds sagged down from the sky, shards of rain showering the waters and his numbed head. Beaten back under by ruthless waves he kicked and fought back to the surface. Smothered, freed, exchanging one cold horror for the other over and over and over again. Eventually the storm sent one last hammer, one last wave, to slam down onto him. Sparks flew. The dark water pulled him down, another pale face hidden by an ancient and feral nature. Gone. Drowned.

 Glass cracked, splintering in at ever angle, the fine lines slicing through any clear picture as blood oozed out of the skin. Merlin's image watched, distorted, face cut up into a mismatched mosaic of what he used to be. A trail of red ran down one of the fissures, filling the blackness with something darker. Broken glass fell onto porcelain.

 Shards of it were scattered across the road. Mordred stood motionless in the chaos. Not drowned. Not dead. Half of his face splashed with the red, the thick liquid clinging to his shirt, hair. The yelling, the fires, all seemed distorted like the storm underwater. His knees fell to the ground.

 Morgana gasped.

 Eyes now open she stared into the gloom of her bedroom, skin sticky with sweat. Sitting up she saw him getting dragged under, the breaking glass, the blood and fire. Her breaths were rapid and worsened by the pressing silence of her room. The aching in her chest called for Mordred, to not be alone. Pulling her knees up to meet her chest she craned her head over to touch them, clasping her hands behind the nape of her neck. Her torso rose and fell beneath the thick covers. She hadn't had a dream for months. Not for months. Not since Morgause. Not since it had all come back.

 The tears were hot, and her entire body was boiling in the heat, external, internal. It all hurt and she hated keeping the pretence of that version of herself. So stupidly naive. Lapping up everything the blonde woman had told her, but she'd been so wrong. Two lifetimes she'd royally screwed up and it hurt. It burned. The smoke filled her nostrils, warmth rolling over her in the air. Too hot.

 Looking up the bright light flared up, fire catching the corner of her bed, crackling and spitting and growing. It curled up the walls, spreading, consuming the carpet. Morgana threw herself back against the bed's headboard, standing and pressing herself against the wall. No escape. It was everywhere. The tears peeled off her cheeks into vapour as she stared in terror. Inch by inch it blackened and seared, lashing out at her, claws and hands trying to snatch her away.

 It caught her. She screamed for Mordred.

 The cries tore her awake. No fires, no oceans, no shattered glass. No Merlin. No Mordred. Just herself and the dreams. Scrambling out of the bed, Morgana grabbed her mobile and called him. The answering tone droned at her after the ringing ran its course.

'Mordred, the dreams, visions, they're happening again. Call me. Please, I need to know you're safe,' she rushed out in one breath. She didn't go back to bed. Could’t. A shower stripped away the sweat of nightmares, of a terrifying future, and left her in dazed peace to work on an operation for Trident. It wouldn’t leave her though. The loss, the endless dark waters and burning chaos. The broken Merlin, the flames. She hoped they were just nightmares. Dreams.

 She knew better.

 


	6. The Other Side

 Arthur rolled over on the bed, head groggy and body feeling exposed. Opening his eyes he saw the daylight washing his bedroom in a morning clarity he'd have done well having the previous night. One drink to another, to another, then dancing, and then he couldn't remember.

 He sat up and studied his naked form, first with question then with growing dread. Sleeping naked wasn't something he did. Unless he'd had a guest. The last guest he'd ever considered having was Merlin. The bra on the ground spoke of someone less male. Less Merlin. The messy state of the bed covers cemented the story of last night. Panic drip fed into his veins as he grabbed boxers, shorts, he didn't care which, and tugged them on. Creeping into the hallway he tiptoed towards the living room.

_Experts surmise the rot had spread further than anticipated, causing the collapse in the early hours of the morning. One car crashed, failing to realising the destroyed state of the Flyover, with two dead and one casualty. Metro police are investigating the possibility of it being something more than an accident or miscalculation._

 The large screen showed a ruin, the BBC broadcasters filling in the populous on the new tragedy. Arthur temporarily forgot his own fear. Then he saw it. Her. DC Maclain. _Vivian._  His stomach lurched, hands numb when she noticed him and grinned. She shot up, revealing her similarly half-dressed state with nothing but his button-down shirt from yesterday to cover her frame. Bounding over her lips smashed against his before he could stop it, and it took a minute to force her away with his hands.

'What's wrong?'

'Look, I'm not really clear on what happened last night, but whatever it was it-'

'Was crazy? A mistake? Can never happen again?' DC Maclain filled in, narrowed eyes touched with a passive aggression. 'If so, I completely agree.'

 Arthur fell silent. 'You do?'

'I do. That's why I'm taking you out again tonight.'

'What? I'm taken. This can't happen again. Ever,' he explained, folding arms over his bare chest.

'If you were already involved with someone I've got to wonder how well that's working out for you,' she said, finger tracing the hem of his shirt. It barely covered the top third of her thigh.

'That's none of your business,' Arthur snapped, stepping around her and padding over to the kitchen. The tiles chilled the soles of his feet, shivers tracing up his skin.

'I like to think people share a bit more after sex, but fair enough,' DC Maclain remarked, following him. 'If you don't want this to continue, that's just fine.'

He took out a mug and flicked down the kettle's switch. 'Thank you.'

'Is it Gwen?' she asked, leaning against the work surface as she eyed him. She blocked his access to the tea. 'Your girlfriend?'

'Merlin,' he said, surprised at how the name had caught itself in his mouth, refusing to leave without an extra push. Merlin. Where was he? Did he walk in on them last night? The nausea from the previous afternoon swarmed back.

'Oh. You guys really are boyfriends. Having some issues though, that's for sure. I'll go change,' she informed him, floating away to the doorway where she paused. 'Can I get a lift to work?'

'Sure,' he muttered as he reached for the pot of tea bags. Hand diving in to grab one he felt the rough texture on his fingertips, but didn't take one. His thirst had drained away, replaced by fear. If Merlin had been having doubts about their relationship, this would make his decision easier. Arthur: the Detective Sergeant, the clotpole, the mundane, the cheat, the ex. He sank back against the doorframe, scrubbing his hands over his face.

_Just days away from the final phase of work being done to strengthen the Hammersmith Flyover, the decay seems to have been greater than initially believed. Experts insist it would not have collapsed without external influence. This may be an accidental tragedy or a new form of terrorism-_

 Arthur switched the television off and trudged back down the hallway for a shower.

 

 

 Walking into the operations room felt disturbingly similar to entering a funeral home's waiting room. Arthur shook away the odd memory and focused on the long faces of his friends and co-workers. 'What happened?'

 Gwen drew out of her thoughts to acknowledge him. 'Aredian came home earlier than expected-'

'What?'

'Kilgharrah's talking with Merlin right now,' Gwaine went on, nodding towards the office. Blinds concealed the transgression from their naturally prying eyes.

'Did he see you?' Arthur asked the Irishman whose usual charm felt weighted and subdued.

'Not me, no. He and Merlin had a nice chat though,' he said, face dusted with chagrin at the memory.

'How much does he know?' Vivian asked, unburdening herself of her bag, coat and umbrella.

'That he's under investigation. That Merlin has-'

'That Merlin has?' she pressed as she leaned against the desk.

'Merlin's the one who's taken point on the case,' Percy answered for him.

'Wasn't somebody keeping watch?'

 Any semblance of Gwaine's cheer had just been strangled. 'I saw him coming and tried to stop him, but-'

'But you didn't? This might have blown the entire investigation-'

'We can now see Aredian's reaction. It still helps,' Arthur interrupted, bracing for a backlash from the newest member of their team. She did turn on him, but her features remained calm, softening even.

'It's not a risk to be taken again,' DC Maclain said, 'is it?'

 Morgana came up to them, two coffee cups in hand. 'Aren't those the clothes you wore yesterday at the Press Conference, Vivian?'

 Arthur bristled. 'What do you want?'

'Thought I'd bring you caffeine,' she answered with dark eyes of her own as she held out a cup. 'This weather's killed the cheery summer spirit, don't you think?'

 Arthur didn't respond. DCI Kilgharrah stepped out and headed towards them all, Merlin walking behind him. Arthur tried to see him, to see if he'd found him and DC Maclain together, if he was okay. Wished he could see something behind the mask Merlin had taken to wearing most of the time.

'What's our next move? Watch Aredian? Bring him in for questioning?' Percy questioned, ignoring Morgana's entrance.

'Where's the evidence?' DC Maclain said, blunt and true words hammering down the mood even further.

'We watch,' Kilgharrah answered.

 Maclain's lips pursed, neat brows digging downwards. 'Sir-'

'Have a better idea, DC?'

'We haven't looked at everything yet. Lack of an alibi is hardly enough to get a conviction.'

 Arthur shifted closer to where Merlin had positioned himself. 'Are you okay? You look tired.'

'Had a late night,' the man murmured in reply, eyes fixed on the argument.

'Not the only one,' Morgana remarked, placing the cup on the desk.

 Arthur groaned. 'Morgana-'

'I'm just here to ask Merlin for a favour,' she assured him, no wicked smile or predatory tilt of the head.

'Shouldn't you be working with Trident?' DCI Kilgharrah queried, having won the dispute. Everyone waited for her response. Arthur appreciated the lack of comfort they offered her. She took Merlin by the arm and he went with her willingly. Arthur watched, how Merlin's eyes darkened, how Morgana seemed distraught one moment then the flare of her nostrils and narrowed eyes. The DS broke away and marched back to the team.

'No. I haven't seen him and I never want to again,' Merlin said sharply and Morgana left. Arthur felt the apprehension in Gwen, Percy, even Leon. They all regarded Merlin with a certain amount of concern, like the trepidation felt by someone facing down a wild cat. He was no different, excepting his love for the untameable creature.

'Have you two patched things up?' Maclain asked lightly, playing ignorant to the feud.

 Merlin's lips twisted into a smile. 'I'm not one to hold a grudge.'

 His glare hardened. Shifted from Maclain to him. Merlin's eyes, dark and blue, those thick lashes, they seemed to accuse him of something. Arthur had never held a grudge against Merlin, so it couldn't be that.

'You're staring,' he noted aloud.

 Merlin blinked, features tight. 'Sorry.'

 The insincerity made his innards squirm. 'It's alright. I like it.'

 Merlin took a deep breath before announcing, 'I took the flat.'

'What?' Arthur breathed, heartbeat harder and painful. Vivian remained at his side, silent, observing. Why would he say that? Why would Merlin say that with a stranger to hear it?

'St Stephens Gardens in Notting Hill,' he continued, the accusation burning in his eyes. He knew. He knew about him and Maclain. 'Transferred the deposit yesterday. I can move in next week.'

'You,' Arthur paused, catching his breath. How could he feel like he'd run a marathon from hearing just four words? 'You took it?'

'Gwaine's going to help move my things. There isn't much so I'll be out your place by next Friday,' Merlin said, unfazed by Arthur's shock. Didn't he care?

'Come on, Merlin. You don't have to move out,' he said, lowering his voice. 'Please.'

'Oi, get over here, Merlin,' Gwaine called. 'You're the SIO. Need you to sign off on the surveillance team.'

 Merlin's gaze shifted away then back to him. 'Duty calls.'

'It always does with you,' Arthur said as the man left.

'Sure you don't want to go out tonight?' Maclain asked, hot breath brushing against his ear while her fingers twined around his. Repulsion. Loathing. Arthur saw Gwen's look of surprise and disapproval, Merlin glancing back in time to catch the unwanted intimacy as well. By the time Arthur had lurched away from Maclain Merlin had his head bowed down over papers.

'What the hell was that?' Arthur hissed at the DC.

'What we did last night wasn't a one time thing and you know it. There was a connection. The kind I doubt you've ever had with him,' she reasoned, shooting Merlin a hateful stare. It was ridiculous. Arthur almost laughed about it, but the repercussions of her delusion were all too real.

'Do your job, DC Maclain,' he ordered. 'I'm not going to pursue this and neither should you.'

'I could destroy his reputation. Report incompetence and corruption. They'd believe me in a heartbeat with his record.'

'Is that a threat?'

'You decide.'

 She strutted away to the others, where Elyan was telling Merlin about the parameters of the surveillance. He stiffened when Maclain stood next to him. Arthur had to ward her off properly. He headed towards them.

'DS Pendragon. We need to discuss something with you,' DCS Agravaine commanded. Reluctantly he turned on the spot and marched back to wear his two superiors waited. Once inside the office the door closed, the blinds dropped. DCI Kilgharrah regarded him with curiosity.

'You remember Ambrosia's owner, Cenred?' DCS Agravaine began.

'Sadly, yes,' Arthur said, studying the sombre looks on their faces.

'He came out of the coma.'

'And he insists it was Merlin who put him into it. Using magic,' DCI Kilgharrah added, lips downturned and deepening the folds in his skin.

 Arthur looked at Agravaine. 'You know about-'

'Of course he does. Can't expect anyone to lead the CID while being oblivious to the fact of magic's existence. Not anymore,' DCI Kilgharrah said bluntly. 'The more worrying fact is that Merlin put that man into a coma.'

'I can't,' Arthur's mind failed him for any more words. The Merlin back then, kisses in the dark, the messy wet hair, the childish insults and the gorgeous smiles, he couldn't see him putting a man into a coma. The Merlin with dark eyes, low and guttural voice, secrets at every turn, that was hardly a stretch to imagine. Odd how both versions felt familiar.

'We need to ensure this doesn't make it to the press. Magic's involvement would be written off as madness, but the accusation will give Merlin enough criticism to cripple his credibility for decades. Losing his job would be the least of his problems, the CID's problems,' DCI Kilgharrah continued before the knock at the door held his tongue.

 It opened. Merlin. 'They've got the DNA results for the prints found at Thornberry's.'

'It took this long?' DCS Agravaine said with a frown.

'Something went wrong,' Merlin remarked. 'Had to redo the entire process.'

'Don't let Maclain hear about that. She'll tear us all apart,' DCI Kilgharrah said, Arthur hearing the note of humour in the words.

 Agravaine's frown worsened. 'She's a member of this team.'

'Never let a starved hound smell blood, Agravaine. It won't matter if it's from their owner,' the DCI mused.

'Wonderful,' Arthur muttered. 'What were the results? Got a name?'

'We need to go down to the lab if we want it,' Merlin said, disappearing once the last syllable fled his lips.

 Arthur followed.

 

 

'Gaius,' Merlin said as they entered the laboratory.

 He got up from the metal stool. 'Good. You came.'

'I thought you'd be able to find a fingerprint match sooner, with all your expertise.' Arthur partly regretted what he said, noticing how harsh it came across. The scientist didn't seem bothered. Neither did Merlin.

'I did. Then I ran a PCR test to be sure,' Gaius explained, hands buried in the large pockets. He watched them both with a grave expression.

'They have a record then?' Arthur asked.

'You could say that, yes.'

'Is it Aredian?' Merlin said, words low and convicting.

'No, Merlin, it isn't him. You must understand that I've checked for any tampering or mistakes,' Gaius answered, removing his glasses and folding them with care before submerging them in the lab coat's white fabric with his hands once again.

 Arthur studied the sombreness in the old man's eyes. 'Why would you go to all that trouble?'

'The fingerprints, the DNA,' Gaius paused. 'They were a match for you, Merlin.'

'Me?'

'The science doesn't lie. Your fingers, and yours alone, were on that tumbler.'

'You wore gloves at the scene, didn't you?' Arthur asked, but he could remember. He had been. 'Magic. It must be Aredian, after he found you at his house.'

'Must be,' Merlin murmured, eyes hazed over with thought.

'What do we do, Gaius?'

'Lose the results. Say there wasn't enough DNA to run a full analysis. Contaminate the samples,' he answered, fast enough for Arthur to know he'd already made his decision.

'Choose the least conspicuous,' Arthur suggested.

'I will,' he said. 'If he's willing to go to such lengths . . . This man is dangerous, Merlin.'

 Those words drew Merlin out of whatever he'd been thinking. The haze melted away, a dark irritation threading through his irises, the lines of his frown. 'As dangerous as Morgana? Cause she's pretty snug in the heart of the Met. How about Mordred? Is Aredian gonna try to get into my pants too? Not to mention DC Maclain. One word from her and I'm finished.'

 Arthur blocked Gaius from his view. He didn't deserve that. 'Merlin-'

'Do what you think's right, Gaius,' he said, a blink-less stare binding his attention and irritation to Arthur.

 The scientist shifted behind him. 'I trust you, Merlin.'

'Good to hear,' he remarked, the dark threads pulling at a momentary mocking smile. The cruel humour directed at its creator. 'I don't trust myself, so at least other people can make up for that.'

 Arthur's skin itched under the man's scrutiny, his scornful stare. 'Merlin, about DC Maclain and-'

'It's fine. You're moving on. It's fine. She can give you more than I ever could,' Merlin said, breaking the bitter connection when he turned away back towards the door.

'What couldn't you give me?' Arthur asked as Merlin pulled it open.

The pain and anger in his expression left Arthur breathless for the second time that day. 'Normal. Safe. Peaceful. Sex.'

'Christ,' he huffed, the weight of their problem drilling into his head again. Arthur had made it clear to Merlin that it wasn't a problem. It wasn't. Could never be. He loved Merlin. Wanted to help him, wanted to be with him. Needed him. Sex wouldn't change that. 'I wasn't myself when Maclain and I . . . I can't even remember it.'

'Don't worry about my delicate heart, Arthur,' Merlin scoffed. 'I survived centuries alone. It's probably best I do it again.'

 He was gone the next second, leaving a baffled Gaius and an equally conflicted Arthur. Merlin managed to refine the expressions and tones of annoyance, sadness, fury and derision all into a singular and terrifying form. Besides that, one thing clogged Arthur's thoughts. The pang, the uncomfortable scratching at the corners of his mind at what Merlin had said. _Centuries. Centuries alone._  The words weaved themselves with the earlier ones, _adapt, we failed_. Like passing a window, Arthur was catching glimpses of the trees, road, weather, but he had no idea where he was, what the air tasted like, what the ground felt like one the other side of the glass. Merlin refused to let him cross it.

'Arthur,' Gaius started but Arthur left before he could get another word out. If Merlin wouldn't let him out to the other side he was more than willing to break the barrier down himself. Or leave it all together.

 

* * *

 

 Aredian explored the rooms. White, modern, little history. The bed was made, a woman's perfume clinging to the sheets. He could feel the magic running through the flat like blood in veins. Running a hand along the duvet the beat of a magic-user's heart echoed to him. Bedding a human, an innocent to the repugnant corruption of the powers? Tackless. Classless. Insulting. Casting the beam of the torchlight to the bedside table he saw a picture frame placed facedown. Raising it up he saw the grinning face of his target, his duty. Arm wrapped around the waist of DS Pendragon, another member of the murder investigation team. The other arm cradling a certificate, a commendation.

 Leaving the memory trapped in the frame Aredian pulled the wardrobe open. Men's clothing, two different sizes. He studied them. Three sizes. Some were old, untouched for months, outgrown, soaked in faded magic. The newer ones, larger but still slim compared to the mundane set of clothes, breathed strength and ancient power. Merlin Emrys, stronger both physically and magically. A challenge. A trophy to crown all the rest.

'How could you?' a women's voice yelled from the other side of the flat. Turning the light off he slipped behind the bedroom door and waited. Listened.

'I was drunk and ill. I didn't want it to happen-'

'You and I both know that's not quite true,' the woman said, the living room's lights chasing away the shadows. He remained secure in his own personal pocket.

'I love him, Gwen.'

'Is that an excuse?'

'No. What I did was wrong, I regret it, but I didn't do it to hurt him, or end what he have. Had. He's locked me out, Gwen. He's moving out, and he's locked me out. Something happened and he won't-'

'Is it to do with his magic? With what happened at Christmas?'

'You remember Cenred?'

'The creep who ran Ambrosia. What about him? I thought he was in a coma.'

'Merlin did something. Cenred's awake and says it was Merlin who put him into it.'

'With magic?'

'With magic.'

'He couldn't have.'

'You saw him when we arrested Old Religion. Seen how he's been acting. The magic, all of it . . . He's different. Changed.'

'Do you want him to be? Would that make it easier?'

'I don't know. How can something so fantastic become . . . this?'

'Fate?'

'So the Gods have it in for me?'

'Not all of them. Want to pull a watch with me tonight? We'll be the first to surveil him, prove to Maclain how competent we are.'

 They were moving again, Arthur Pendragon fetching something, or dropping something off. 'Sure.'

'We need to grab takeaway on the way there, though.'

'Chinese?'

'Lebanese.'

 Silence. They were gone. Aredian took his time searching the rest of the flat, the new morsel of information sweet in his thoughts. The potential being fully realised in a number of scenarios he could set into motion with a correctly dropped hint, a well written article, a kill with perfect timing. Corner the prey. Scare it and then launch. Feed.


	7. Naked

 Mordred returned to the abandoned block of flats Old Religion had overrun as Nimueh took him to the last stop of the day's tour. Testing his magical abilities had been the first stage. The second: orientation. She was leading him through an unfamiliar floor. Less people, more boxes, more questions. 'What are the crates for?'

'Drugs,' she said, slowing her pace to accommodate his curiosity.

'Drugs?' he repeated, the wooden boxes losing mystery and playing host to dread. The girl he'd seen injecting herself, the drugs had been provided by her own kind. It was horrific, understandable, frustrating.

'Hard of hearing, Mordred?' Nimueh mocked. Her ethereal beauty felt out of place in the surroundings. He probably suited them well. 'They're the one thing which can actually suppress the corruption of magic, remember?'

'You have a lot of it.'

'Well, it's not just drugs,' she explained. He'd been feeling more tired each day he spent with her, with them. His own lies were equally matched with whatever they kept hidden. It made his skin crawl. 'What you did last night was an important step. You shouldn't mourn their deaths.'

 His gut wrenched. 'What should I do, then?'

'You're very eager. The rumours must be true,' Nimueh remarked with a curl of her lips.

'Rumours?'

'Did you know those with magic can sense their kindred?'

 She had an annoying affinity for melodrama. 'Yes.'

'Well, people feel you, Mordred. Your magic. It's much stronger than most.'

'Stronger than yours?' he asked, part jokingly, and he quirked his brow to sell it as such. Part of the question yearned for a genuine answer, to confirm whether he could take her out. He had talent in smiles and lies, and testing her talent was hard, near impossible.

'Careful now,' she said, pale hand opening a door to reveal a room covered in papers, books, more crates. 'I'd like you to meet Edwin Muirden.'

'Mordred, what an honour,' the supposed Edwin Muirden rushed, taking his hand a shaking it with both of his own. They were hot, slightly sweaty. The man's hair was longer than most, a washed out brown with a ginger tinge. Half of his face had scarred skin, shiny and uneven. It left him gruesomely mangled. Mordred could smell the smoke of the fire which had singed and destroyed the cells.

'He's our pharmacist, of sorts. Makes sure the drugs are safe, among other things. He's also essential to the plan. Like you.'

'How do you make them safe?' Mordred asked as he circled around the room. Flasks and vials and tubes. Experimentation, chemistry, powders of assorted colours, it all layered the heavy wooden tables. The air was clogged with the strange and magical vapours.

'I remove any dangerous impurities. Ensure the antagonists, or agonists, contained do not harm the nervous system. Ensure they give the user the relief they deserve.'

'Relief,' Mordred murmured. The choice seeming wrong in Edwin's use. 'You give it a high price. Drugs are addictive. Sometimes deadly. Can your magic promise no risk?'

'Sadly not. My gifts cannot compare to yours. Some would say it's a risk worth taking,' he said, hand encasing the other in front of his chest. They parted to extend towards him elaborately. 'It truly is an honour.'

 Mordred couldn't bring himself to fake a smile. 'I'm sure it is.'

'You can think of me as a doctor. Nimueh here is the strategist, and you,' Edwin paused, folding his arms. 'You are the sword. Deliver the killing blow. Magic has its foundations in the Old ways. Tradition. I must admit I've become a bit obsessed with it. Something you can sympathise with, yes? The modern world has no such interest from me. To have such a weapon marry the roots of magic? It's remarkable.'

'Thank you, Edwin,' Nimueh silenced him, inviting Mordred to leave. He accepted whole heartedly, savouring the cleaner air in the corridor.

 She gave him an understanding look as they headed back outside. 'The fumes have created a surreal reality within his mind. Makes his magic more effective thankfully, but it has its side effects.'

'He's mad,' Mordred clarified. 'You have a man man checking on the safety of illegal drugs.'

'Before you leave, I think it's time you hear more about the war I intend to create,' Nimueh said. He wanted nothing more than to escape into the night air, go back to his temporary home, wash off the grime. He couldn't. This was what he'd been hoping for. He stayed. He listened.

 

 Mordred got back to his hotel room later than planned, mind racing. Pulling off the jacket he snatched up the room's phone and called Aglain, heart pumping.

'Mordred?'

'A rebellion,' he huffed, catching his breath. 'They're going to provoke a rebellion and try to replace Parliament, even the monarchy. Take them prisoner.'

'Slow down, Mordred. Are you sure?'

 He pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. 'That's what Nimueh told me.'

'How are they going to do it?'

'I don't know yet. I don't think I'm-'

'Mordred, you're doing well,' Aglain said. Mordred started undoing the buttons of his shirt. 'Better than any of the others. Less that a week and already we have more than we've ever had before. We need to be sure, though. If you say that's their plan, I'll need more evidence before we can make our move.'

'Yeah,' he mumbled, appreciating the cool air on his bare chest when he tugged the shirt off, leaving it in a navy pile on the dresser. Breaking ceramic sounded from outside. The fighting couple. They hadn't failed to alert him of their issues for the last three nights, why would this night be any different? A thud. Another crack.

'You'll be out soon and back to your home, Morgana, okay?' Aglain continued, but the second heavy thud followed by a groan kept Mordred's attention.

'I've got to go.'

'Mordred? Is something happening?'

 He hung up, sliding the phone back into its hub. No more noises. He moved towards the door.

 It splintered inwards, the magic hitting him like a brick wall. A hand latched around his throat and rammed him to the ground.

'It was you. Falsifying evidence? Have to say that's pretty low,' Merlin growled, both hands clasped tightly around his neck. His eyes burned golden in the shadows pouring over them. Mordred pushed at him, but he didn't budge. 'Destroying the bridge was sadistic. They were children. They died because of you. Just got their licence and killed because of you.'

 Winds blew outwards, swirled and took half the room's contents flying. The door slammed shut. Mordred tried to pull at Merlin's fingers but they were locked like a statue around his skin. The rough fabric of Merlin's jeans scratched against his exposed skin, the biting cold seeping into his bones. Merlin's words seemed to bury themselves deep in his mind, forcing him to listen.

'The doctors there to _help_  you were left in their own blood for fuck's sake. Everywhere you go, death and more death and you wanted to make me one of them, didn't you? _Didn't you?_ ' The question made Mordred's eardrums ache, even bleed. Merlin was infusing his voice with magic, accidentally or purposefully. 'You killed him and I loved you. I fucking _loved_  you, and you were the one who killed him.'

 His grip lessened enough for Mordred to croak, 'Killed who?'

'Arthur.'

'He's alive.'

'Don't tell me you don't remember,' he snarled.

'Merlin, get off me,' Mordred said. The hands squeezed, cutting off the blood flow. His face heated up. The pooling blood burned behind his eyes and his chest screamed for oxygen. The gold churned and grew brighter as it fed Merlin's muscles with relentless strength.

 He leaned down, face a thread's width away. 'Why? You didn't.'

 Mordred's vision became blotchy. His regret. His defeat. A missed chance in both times. He wouldn't deny it, but like hell would he be killed by him. Eyes squeezed shut he lashed out with his magic. A red gash ran down Merlin's cheek. He struck Mordred with a fist. The metallic taste flooded his mouth. Merlin's hands were gone, the warlock, the detective, falling onto the bed, covering his face. Blood stained his knuckle. Sitting up in spite of the complaining muscles, Mordred assessed the situation as he rubbed the sore skin of his throat. The room was trashed. The shadows and winds gone. Merlin cradled his head, elbows balanced on his knees. No longer bony with their proper muscle.

'You're a bastard,' he mumbled, looking up when Mordred sat down next to him. The soft bed was a treasure compared to the floor. Merlin's thick eyebrows seemed to sit lower on his brow, wiping the innocence, ignorance, awkwardness, from his features. He'd had a hand in it. He didn't doubt what Merlin had said. They were echoes of what he'd accepted weeks ago. He couldn't escape it.

'I didn't fake any evidence, but the rest? For that I am a bastard.'

Merlin looked at him with his real eyes. Human eyes. 'You remember?'

'I do,' Mordred said, knowing he anger and hurt he saw in Merlin was mirrored in his own expression too. 'Guess this means it's not just my imagination.'

'Guess not,' he muttered. Mordred felt naked. Not because of his bare chest, not the emotion, the attack. Merlin was looking at him and seeing through the facade. He saw through it all. 'When did you break Morgana's enchantment?'

'It's been almost four months now.'

'How?'

'I was fighting it the whole time. Finally broke free,' he said, fingers tracing the mark over his heart with shivers running through his chest, around his shoulders. The ink which blackened his mind had imprinted the story, the spell, onto his skin. Ancient magic. Even if he was free, he could never forget. 'How could you tell?'

'Your eyes. When you left Kilgharrah's office, said my name using magic, I felt it. Saw it,' Merlin explained softly, eyes dropping to his chest. The tattoo. 'Does it hurt?'

'Unbearable sometimes.'

 Mordred didn't stop Merlin from reaching out, tracing the black knots and twists with his cold fingers. More shivers. Mordred didn't want to act, to fight, to forget. Right then he wanted Merlin, wanted to hold him. He didn't.

'I hear the battlefield every night,' he said instead.

 Merlin's fingers stopped following the pattern on his skin. 'Camlann?'

'Where the prophecies screwed us all over.'

 His cold hand left the tattoo, resting on the duvet next to Mordred's. 'I hoped this was all a dream when I remembered.'

'In a way, it is. It's only real in our heads. Look at the rest of them. They have no clue,' Mordred said, realising why they all seemed disjointed, something muffling the usual buzz of Gwaine, Percy. Their looks of derision remained at least.

'Why is that?'

'I don't know. Maybe magic has something to do with it,' he said, watching Merlin. The stubble he'd let grown out, the haunted look in his eyes, the coagulating wound which dove across his cheek like a brushstroke. 'I fought, Merlin. Hard. I wish . . . I had no idea before, about magic, about any of it. If I had-'

'I know. It's okay.'

'No, it's not. It can never be-'

'It can be if I say it is. I'm sick and tired of fate. Of people like Morgana. If I can control one thing in my life, I want to control this,' Merlin said. His hand moved to cover Mordred's. The sensation was alien. Comforting. Merlin's cold permeated his skin and Mordred did his best to warm him with small doses of magic. 'It wasn't you. Wasn't me. It was Morgana. Morgause. You say you fought and I believe you.'

 Mordred noticed that Merlin was studying him too. 'What is it you see in my eyes? I have to ask.'

'I'll tell you if answer a question of mine.'

'What?'

 The corner of his lips twitched. 'What the fuck are you doing in this place?'

'Confidential,' he said flatly. 'Your turn.'

'I see,' Merlin started, his stare seeming to delve into his thoughts, his magic lingering over the mark on his chest. 'Oceans. A storm. The waves and the sky alive and filled with colour.'

'And this storm, the colour, reveals my temperament, does it?'

 A throaty chuckle broke out of Merlin, partnered with a bright smile. 'Yeah, dead give away. Especially now. My magic's stronger and yours is too.'

 Another pause. 'Do you really think it was Morgana? That the blame is hers alone?'

'I'm exceptionally rational when I have to be. Want to be.'

'Tonight isn't the best example,' Mordred said with a matching smile. It dimmed as he felt Merlin's hand finally warm. Noticed the ghosts of what he did swimming in the night skies he saw in Merlin's eyes. 'If I can't forgive myself for it?'

'You don't have to,' Merlin said. Soft words but firm. 'We drag the past with us. Everyone does. If you can cut the ties, then you can. If you can't, you adapt. Either way we make new connections. Better ones. Get stronger.'

'You're doing well on the getting stronger front.'

'Hey, you've already made a new connection with me,' he pointed out, nudging Mordred with his shoulder. 'Still, "messed up" barely covers this situation.'

'At least it's unique.'

'Should we feel special then?'

'In a really depressing way? God yes,' Mordred said with a smile. He lifted his free hand up towards Merlin's face. The movement was slow, eyes checking with him if it was okay. No rejection. He pressed his thumb lightly against the one end of the gash. Running it up along the injury he let his magic stitch and sew the skin back together, soothe it. His hand remained there, resting against the defined cheekbone, the hollow. He felt too cold. Mordred only pulled it back once he'd left a small spell on his skin. Temporary, harmless, designed to warm him up.

 The decimated door sat in the background, jagged splinters of wood sticking out haphazardly. 'What did you actually do out there?'

'They'll be fine. Blame it on robbers or something.' Merlin brushed it off. He turned his hand around, lacing his fingers with Mordred's in a gentle but secure grip. 'Let me show you something.'

 The stars, cosmic dust and ghosts in Merlin's eyes were masked by the growing light, the magic surging through their connected hands. Mordred was pulled into his past. Into his heart.

 

* * *

 

 Merlin dropped in the final pile of books, stuffing the empty space in the box with an old hoodie. A stack of cardboard boxes had grown in the living room and his belongings around the flat decreased day by day. He'd begun packing the morning after he attacked Mordred a week beforehand to the day.

 Gwaine plodded over to him from the bedroom, a black leather jacket held in his fist. 'This yours?'

 Mordred's. He'd insisted Merlin take it when he left, to keep warm. 'Yeah.'

'Seems a bit big,' he said, regarding it sceptically as he held it up against Merlin's torso.

 Merlin scoffed as he sealed the box with a strip of scotch tape. 'Not everything needs a skin tight fit.'

'What? I'm proud of what nature gave me,' he said with a mischievous grin.

'I bet you are,' Merlin muttered, crouching down to tape another box shut. 'We can pack the jacket in loose.'

 Gwaine threw it over the back of the sofa. 'Arthur keeping an eye on Aredian?'

'Think so. With Leon. Not that it's any use. A week and he's done nothing suspicious, early morning or late at night.'

'Is he still pushing for Maclain to know about magic?'

 Merlin breathed deeply. 'Yeah. He's got a point, but-'

'It's not worth it,' Gwaine said. He crossed his ankles over leaning against the sofa's arm. 'We can always take Aredian out back, put a bullet in him and throw him in the Thames.'

'Don't joke,' Merlin warned as he leapt up and grabbed a sharpie to label the box.

'This stuff goes beyond normal law and order,' he continued.

'Doesn't mean we will,' Merlin said, scrawling BOOKS onto the brown surface. 'That's the last.'

'You and Arthur,' Gwaine began, waiting for Merlin to pay him complete attention. 'Do you want to keep it going?'

'Yes and no,' he said, clicking the cap back onto the pen using his palm.

'Bet Dr Ruadan loves his sessions with you.'

'According to him, I've had a break through,' Merlin recalled with an amused twitch in his lips.

'With what?'

 Merlin smiled and dropped the pen onto the coffee table before he shrugged on his own jacket. 'My issues.'

'Play the mysterious game all you like. I'm your best friend in this world and the last so you'll open up eventually,' Gwaine said. Merlin looked at him long and hard. *And the last?* Gwaine picked up on the expression of confusion and concern and adopted a false look of deep thought and ambivalence. 'Didn't I mention it? You've got a big mouth when you're drunk.'

 Had he . . .? Did he tell him? 'The drink we had after we broke into Aredian's? It's been over a week since that, Gwaine.'

'A big mouth and a pathetic memory. Didn't think you were that far gone,' he remarked as he pushed away from the sofa and pulled out his keys, twirling them around his finger. 'So, technically, I'm Sir Gwaine. Being a knight.'

'What exactly did I-'

 He didn't bother hiding his smug grin. 'Rambled on about being a manservant, which is pretty kinky if you ask me. Also something which stuck with me. Hard to get that mental image out of your head. The rest was stuff about dragons, big baddies, my charm and allure, that kind of thing.'

'You believe it?' Merlin asked, assessing anything and everything he could. The greenish hue which clung to Gwaine seemed to glow as usual, bright, full of life. No negativity there. At least not aimed towards him.

'I'm open to anything at this point in my life, Merlin. Magic exists after all, why not fucked up reincarnation?'

'Grab some boxes and let's go, we have work in two hours,' he said, another weight lifting off his chest. Disclosure with Mordred had been intoxicating, literally magical, and left him feeling less alone. Gwaine's awareness strengthened that feeling. 'You really shouldn't keep that kind of thing to yourself.'

 The detective piled up to boxes and hauled them up with little trouble. 'You're one to talk.'

 They began to fill Gwaine's car, the boot first, then the backseats. Box by box Merlin left Arthur's flat. The home they had shared. The home which made him want to laugh hysterically and break down at the same time. He had to go. Gwaine's light jabs and questions about their past lives kept Merlin together as they packed. The suffocating touch of Aredian hovered over him the whole time. Reminded him why leaving was so important. He had to protect Arthur. From people like the witch hunter. From himself.

 

* * *

 

 The powders rose in coiling ribbons, mustard yellow and light blue winding around one another as Edwin whispered an incantation. Mordred watched it with some interest, but his chest could still feel Merlin's touch and magic. He hadn't seen him since, thanks to Nimueh's insistence he integrate more fully into Old Religion. 'Is it possible to see past lives? To see a previous existence and show it to another person?'

'The gift of prophecy,' Edwin said, brushing one finger against the streams of powders which now merged together, grain fusing with grain. 'It hasn't been given for centuries. There's a handful in the world who turn with the wheel of the Old Gods. Their lives create the veil between worlds.'

 He sighed. 'It sounds like a story. Fiction.'

'Such visions, if honestly told, speak of a connection with Earth rarely experienced,' Edwin continued, letting the green grains pool back into the mortar before looking at him. 'Have you had one?'

'No.'

 He smiled, the scarred half of his face crumpling strangely. 'Your surname's Leir, is it?'

'Yes,' Mordred said. It wasn't something he liked to share but what choice did he have? It shed his childhood, replacing the varied selection of surnames he'd lived with. Even a changed name told of a past, though. Like his time spent in hiding centuries before, he'd run dry on luck when it came to upbringings.

'You should be proud of your name. Your heritage is rich. I feel your power everyday,' Edwin said with that unnerving smile, the green powder now joined by small leaves which drifted into the mix from their jar of their own accord. The pestle began to scrape and mash and crush it all together. 'I also know about your encounter with Merlin Emrys. If Nimueh were to discover the meeting? Her trust in you would utterly fail. Still you intrigue me, Mordred Leir. Why don't you try some? It's a rite of passage in Old Religion.'

 Mordred eyed the bags of snowy powder Edwin gestured to. 'It's fine. My magic doesn't bother me.'

'How about this then?' he asked, the pestle floating to the work surface. Edwin reached in and grabbed some of the mixture, piling it neatly onto the centre crease of filter paper. 'It's my own mixture. Some harmless herbs only, I assure you.'

'Harmless?'

 Edwin sealed the two sides of the paper together, a perfect roll of whatever it was created and prepared. He picked it up between finger and thumb, lighting the one end with a flame which sputtered out of a free fingertip. Smoke rose and leaves were singed, an amber glow shining out at the one end. He offered it to Mordred. 'Completely.'

 If he built trust with Edwin, he'd have better chance of stealing some of the drugs. Enough evidence for Aglain to order a raid on their operations? Mordred took it, putting it between his lips and inhaling the concoction.

'Nimueh doesn't care for politics, for interference from the justice system. She just wants to hurt them,' Edwin explained, watching Mordred breathe in the fumes. It tasted bitter and metallic, like the blood when Merlin hit him. There was a sweetness too, like fruit, and even heat from a spice like cinnamon. The flavours and scents collided together and bathed his lungs, mouth, nose in their signature.

'Politicians?' Mordred asked, the tinged and used vapours escaping his body when he exhaled.

'The people with power, those who abuse it. This isn't a grand plot of terrorism or rebellion, Mordred Leir. It's underhanded, manipulative. We control them, and we control the power,' he said, the sombre expression he bore more suited to the injury marking his face. Until death do they part? Edwin would be buried or burned with the wound. Like he would die with the ink carved into his own skin. 'Open the eyes of the people to _real_  strength.'

 The tastes and flavours clouded Mordred's thoughts. 'It'll never work.'

'Not peacefully. It's a recipe for blood and war, but she's let her hate fester for over a thousand years. She's strong enough now to act on it. Only with you. A fist needs a sword to kill.'

'I won't do it,' Mordred said. Blunt and honest. Hateful. The smoke made his limbs weightless, his thoughts knotted and small. 'I'm not going to kill anyone.'

 Edwin chuckled, the unpleasant sound stretching and shifting pitch in Mordred's mind. 'You already have.'


	8. The Heat

'It's this left,' Merlin instructed, following the lines of the map on his phone. Colours. Too many of them for a normal street. Looking up he saw them drift and waft outwards from the turning they were supposed to take to reach his new road. 'Don't stop.'

 Gwaine shot him a questioning look but when they passed the street's mouth he realised, and Merlin had his fear confirmed. Vans and reporters waited in front of the house, his ground floor flat targeted. Neighbours looked on with curiosity, some seemed to exchange heated words with the journalists. They waited for him.

'They might not be here for you,' Gwaine suggested as a park, grass and trees filled their view. 'How would they even know where you live?'

 He didn't want to answer. He called Kilgharrah and willed the DCS, the ex-dragon, to hear. To advise.

 Kilgharrah picked up instantly. 'Merlin, the press know.'

'I guessed that much.'

'Cenred gave a statement late yesterday afternoon,' Kilgharrah explained, his calm voice acting as some comfort to Merlin's nerves. They'd been rubbed raw with the lack of progress in Operation Nova, with his fear of the witchfinder. His slipping grip on most relationships besides Mordred. Something which still left him buzzing with adrenaline and conflictions.

'Aredian,' he huffed.

'Most likely.'

'How did he find out?'

'That hospital has thousands of employees, and Aredian made you his target. If anything I'm surprised it took him this long to learn about it.'

'Has DC Maclain heard?'

'I haven't seen her. She was on watch with Arthur last night,' Kilgharrah paused. Merlin could practically hear him thinking. 'DS Pendragon has been taking a lot of shifts lately. By my calculations he hasn't had a single evening free this whole week.'

 As if Merlin hadn't noticed. The distance was a coping mechanism for Arthur, or that's what he assumed. 'We have other things to worry about.'

'Two sides of the same coin, Merlin.'

'Yeah, well you preached that last time and he got run through, I killed myself and everyone else died in various unpleasant ways,' he snapped. Gwaine gave him an alarmed look. Merlin closed his eyes and slowed his breathing.

'I'm heading to the Yard right now, just remain calm, Merlin. There's enough time to sort out this mess.'

'Right.' He ended the call.

'Leaving all your stuff in the car might be dangerous,' Gwaine said into the silence which followed. 'Thieves abound and all.'

 Merlin let his head fall against the seat's rest, watching the streaks and trails of lives pass them by. 'I have magic, remember?'

 

 

 

'You're all crazy. I can't believe this.' DC Maclain's voice carried over to Merlin and Gwaine as they stepped out of the lift.

'Merlin. We had to,' Gwen said the second she saw him approach. He only bothered taking a few steps towards them. DC Maclain glared at him. A cutting stare. A judging one. She still had Arthur's colours, traces on her neck and cheeks, her thin lips. She'd clung to the night she'd spent with him, believing Arthur belonged with her. Merlin partly suspected witchcraft. Wouldn't be the first time. Probably Morgana. It still made his heart ache.

 Gwaine continued on to the rest of them, leaving Merlin there to face down the "mess".

 They'd told her.

'This is bullshit,' Maclain said, hands on hips with a hysterical smile. 'Where's your pointy hat, Merlin? How about a wand? I'm reporting all of you as mentally unstable. Enjoy the asylum.'

'It's true,' he said, words sluggish yet piercing on his tongue. The others stared at him with their usual worry, all frozen as they watched the scene unfold. Arthur looked traumatised, lips parted and eyes wide, ready to step in at any moment. 'I'm a warlock. Wizard or whatever.'

 She scoffed and started marching toward him, or rather the exit behind him. 'I'm leaving.'

 His eyes met with Arthur's. That bright blue sky was grey, raining. He'd gone behind Merlin's back. He'd slept with her. Aredian threatened him. Morgana tried to kill him. Prosecuted for magic in his last life and this one, hiding, surviving, fighting. The poison, the anger, which had only seeped through cracks now broke free. Flooded his veins.

 He pushed his hand out, palm aimed at her. Released.

 Flames rippled into the air, encasing his fingers and coating his skin. Maclain froze. He saw the horror on Arthur's face. The magic surged through his arm, pulsing out from his chest and travelling through his shoulder. The fire fanned outwards. It hissed and flared out into a roar, shaping claws, teeth, a lion landing on the floor. Tendons shifted beneath smooth muscle and fur of flames twisted with smoke. A low growl rumbled through the air as it loped around her. It bared it's black and burning teeth, circling. Hunting. It would have been beautiful if not fuelled by his anger. Arm lowered he noticed its overwhelming size. Almost the same height as her, and on all fours. Jaw level with her neck.

 Merlin felt the creature's smoky breaths like his own. 'Believe me now?'

'Merlin, that's enough,' Gwaine called to him, keeping his distance. Maclain's eyes were glassy. Trembling, she turned with the beast. Watched it with terror. Merlin felt her fear too. Felt it from the rest of them. Arthur said nothing, eyes riveted upon the creature as it stalked Maclain. His head throbbed. The lion launched at her, the roar deafening as it twined with her scream.

 Ash and smoke blew against her. It covered her and the ground, the fire and life stripped just as the creature's claw had clipped the skin of her throat. One bead of blood. She collapsed onto her knees.

 Gwaine rushed over to Merlin, but it still moved in his veins. The power. The poison. He turned, body thrown into a million molecules before he stepped onto the tiles of the bathroom floor.

 A yell tore out of his throat. He opened eyes to see his fist embedded in the mirror. A hollow ache extended out from the knuckles caged by shards, a few dropping to the porcelain sink with light clinks. Merlin drew it back slowly. It stung, decorated with jagged pieces of the mirror which reflected blood beginning to leave the wounds. The pieces felt cold in his skin.

The door banged open. 'Merlin.'

 Arthur's hand carefully wrapped around his wrist, index finger resting against is palm as he examined the injury. Merlin was aware of the movement, the touch, but he couldn't look away from the fractured image. His fractured image. His eyes. The pupils still encircled by golden rings, the precious metal still shifting and glowing with heat.

'Merlin,' Arthur said again. 'We need to go to a hospital.'

'No,' Merlin breathed, the anger and poison finally draining away. He pulled his hand back. Piece by piece he removed the shards, dropping them into the sink where the dripping tap cleaned away some of the blood staining their sharp edges.

'You didn't have to do that.'

 He took in a sharp breath when he tugged out a piece buried deep between his knuckles. 'What? Maclain or the mirror?'

'Both.'

'Anger got the better of me, what can I say?' Merlin said, trying not to see Arthur's disjointed figure in the fissured mirror. 'First Morgana, now Aredian. Their goal of tearing me down is fast approaching.'

'We can't be sure it was him or Morgana.'

'That's not the fucking point, Arthur,' he said. A pained expression flashed across the ex-King's face. Regret panged in his chest. The ex-King who was destroying him more than Aredian or Morgana ever could. 'Doesn't matter. They think they can get away with murder if I'm gone and I'm tired of it.'

'They will, if you're gone. Morgana managed just fine with you still here too,' Arthur reminded him. The last mirror fragment clinked into the sink. His knuckles, fingers, were scratched and cut. Blood welled in the wounds.

 Arthur's words hurt more. 'It's always my responsibility, isn't it? Protect the innocent, vanquish the evil, watch everything I love go to shit.'

'You put a man into a coma, Merlin. Why didn't you tell me?'

 Arthur's use of his name felt like an accusation. It was fair. Understandable. He wasn't the saint, the silent hero, he'd tried to be in Camelot. Merlin. It was a joke of a name. Decorated with secrets and deaths and too many years.

 Merlin finally turned to face him with a strangled laugh. 'You've never fully accepted my magic, Arthur. As if I was going to make that worse. There are somethings you can't comprehend.'

'Try me,' he dared with a hard stare.

 _Just hold me._ The dead words sliced down Merlin's thoughts. 'No.'

'Watching you like this? It's killing me, Merlin. With you or away from you, _you_ are what I always think about. I don't care if it's horrible, whatever it is you're hiding. You're suffering. Let me understand,' he begged, clean hands cupping Merlin's face gently.

'No. You need to be stronger than the rest of them. I can't be, not anymore. I just can't,' Merlin said, his eyes stinging now as well. What had he told Mordred? Cut the ties. Aredian wasn't going to stop. He couldn't forget. 'You won't be strong enough if I make you understand.'

 Arthur pressed his forehead against Merlin's, fingertips tracing circles against his neck. 'What's scaring you so much?'

'I love you, Arthur,' Merlin said. Part answer, part declaration. He knew what he had to do. What he couldn't do. He'd put it off too long. Just hold me. Hooking his chin over Arthur's shoulder he felt the man's warmth, arms secure around him as he accepted the embrace. _Thank you._ 'More than this world and the next and more than anything that's come before. Which is why I can't do this. I can't watch you die. Can't let you see the same happen to me. It _will_ happen.'

  _Not again._ The words hung in the air. Unspoken. Ugly. Merlin pulled out of the hug. Arthur stared at him, and in the silence the series of feelings that crossed his face almost had a voice of their own. He settled on anger.

'You love me so you can't be with me? What the fuck, Merlin? That makes no sense,' Arthur said, his eyes starting to shine. 'What happened? What's scaring you? Please, just tell me.'

 Last time he held on as Arthur died. This time he was letting go to make sure he lived. Before he walked away Merlin pressed his lips to the corner of Arthur's mouth, hand on his chest to feel the human heartbeat. The strong and steady rhythm. He headed towards the door.

'No. No, you can't just end this. You can't leave me-'

 

 

 

 Merlin stepped into a summer shower, the shock of the transition enough to distract him from what he'd just done. Rushing across the street and up the steps he knocked on the door with his bloody fist. The front door opened.

'Merlin Emrys. Make this quick, I'm in the middle of cooking breakfast,' Aredian said. Sleeves rolled up with an apron tied around his waist he seemed domestic. Safe.

'We need to talk.'

'About what?'

'You know what,' Merlin said with narrowed eyes.

'I made my intentions clear to you the last time we met. I also told you not to come to my home.'

He could recall all too clearly. The hollowness. The weakness. 'I didn't choose this. I never wanted magic, and I can't get rid of it. Why do you kill people like me? Destroy us?'

'I _am_ your choice,' Aredian remarked, tone almost patronising. 'You don't want this life? Let me end it.'

 Merlin frowned. 'No.'

'Then go waste someone else's time,' he said and started to shut the door.

'Why don't you just kill me now?' Merlin asked quickly. He had to know.

'Why don't you kill _me_? I hunt, Merlin,' Aredian replied with a sigh. 'I don't strike until the perfect moment. For you, that moment has yet to come, and it will come.'

 Aredian closed the door in his face. The rain was light but constant and Merlin started to shiver as he left. The surveillance team snapped photos, keen eyes questioning his presence. Notting Hill was out of the question. So was returning to a flat he'd likely never see the inside of again. Scotland Yard hosted the witnesses to his breakdown.

 He listened to the rain, how it pattered on cars and the ground, felt how it ran down the back of his neck causing more shivers. Merlin took out his mobile, letting the droplets hit a magical barrier in place of the screen as he tapped out a text to Mordred. CAN WE MEET TOMORROW? NOTES, NATIONAL GALLERY.

 He spent the rest of the day wandering, thinking. _The perfect moment. You didn't have to do that._ His headache was back.

 

 

 London was still being drowned by the skies when Merlin rang Gwaine's doorbell.

 The Irishman opened the door and instantly grinned. 'You're dripping.'

 Merlin's mood lightened, the soaked curls of his hair dripping onto his nose. 'I am.'

'Was worried you did the disappearing act again,' he admitted.

'Sorry.'

'Never have to apologise to me, mate,' Gwaine said, stepping aside to let him in. 'You're packed up home is currently residing in my hallway.'

 The boxes had been stacked up on one side, climbing three rows high in a pyramid structure. Dark dots marked where the rain had hit them. It was an impressive task to do alone.

'Very symmetrical,' Merlin said as he trudged past the detective and former knight.

'Don't want to live in a dump, do I? I figured you'd show up here so I brought it in for safe keeping.'

'Thank you.'

'Best friends, remember?' he said, clapping him on the shoulder after he shut the door. 'And, as your best friend, it's my job to say you look like shit. Only wetter and paler.'

'I appreciate the honesty,' Merlin said. He followed Gwaine through to the living room.

'If you wanted to know what hell your stunt triggered, I can run you through the short version,' Gwaine suggested, but he continued before Merlin agreed. 'Maclain's being counselled by Gwen, our superiors are being secretive dicks, and Arthur's pissed.'

 Merlin internally groaned. 'It was stupid of me.'

'Just be grateful we were the only sods at work that early on a Thursday morning,' he said as he pulled on a thick knitted cardigan from the washing machine. Gwaine tugged another knitted creature out and gestured to Merlin but he shook his head. The magic swarmed to his skin and into his clothes, drying them with ease. 'Still won't tell Arthur about the reincarnation thing?'

 He probably hadn't told Gwaine about the part where Arthur died in his arms. How he jumped off a cliff after centuries of waiting. Definitely hadn't told him that in his drunk state. 'I can't.'

'You're too nice for your own good. With Arthur anyway,' Gwaine said before waving an arm at the dark brown leather sofa. 'I'll grab some spare sheets and the living room is yours. Unless you want to cuddle?'

'The sofa's perfect,' Merlin assured him with a half-hearted smile.

 

* * *

 

 Mordred had slept the whole of Thursday away. Whatever Edwin gave him had definitely been more than "harmless herbs". The odd tang still tinged everything he ate or drank. His mind had cleared thankfully, and the rest of his senses seemed sharper as he walked along the street. The sky was blue, pure, with clouds beginning to swarm across it. For now they were kept at bay. It faded away to an almost white in the distance. Buildings and trees hid where the sky met the earth. The high stone spire of the Coliseum reached up to scrape the daring clouds.

 Countless smells coiled in the air as he navigated through the throngs of people searching for the cafe Merlin had suggested, "Notes". Merlin. He could feel his magic, his chest itching at its touch. Plucking on the threads in the warm air he followed the vibrations with his eyes until they led him to the warlock across the street. Stood beside a chalkboard, Merlin waited and admired the row of motorcycles parked in front of the cafe. The admiration was weighted with something, and even as far away as he was, Mordred could see the touch of a golden glow in his eyes. Not a good sign.

 Passing the chipping red telephone boxes Mordred crossed the road. Less people made his movements easier, and he hopped up onto the paving and stepped into the shadow cast by the pub on his right side. Rich cherry oak panelling gave it a rustic feel. Merlin looked left, eyes fixing onto Mordred with a smile folding into his cheeks.

 Heat crashed over him.

 Pain splintered over his entire right side as the explosion hurled him several yards away. His body hit the ground, chest pressed against the paved tiles. Debris and wooden limbs from the building showered down around him, glass and splinters having ripped into his skin.

 Right ear pulsing, Mordred barely registered calls for help, the crackling of fire and screams from somewhere. His temple rested on the cool ground, skin burning and punishing him for any movement. The sharp scent of blood and smoke consumed his sense of smell. His own breaths seemed louder than the rest of the world. Inhale. Exhale. Keep still. Close eyes.

 Fingers wrapped around his arm and pulled him up. His muscles protested, the burning getting worse, diving deeper into his skin and along his nerves. The world felt warped, out of focus. Inhale. Exhale. Keep eyes open. A wailing erupted. An orchestra of wails. Sirens. Lots of them. Breathe. The gold touched eyes were telling him something as he was led away from the running people, the smoke billowing out and up into the air. The cherry oak was gone, the pub left collapsed, ruined. Black. Blinding orange. Heat.

 The heat was everywhere.


	9. Smoke

 Cool magic soothed his limbs as they walked. Not his. Merlin? A crutch for his body as he floated off with the warlock into the gap between two buildings. Out of sight. Leaning against the  brick Mordred wanted to sink to the ground. Glass buried in his side and back caught on nerves, muscle fibres. He wanted to close his eyes. Breathe. Not breathe.

 Mangled sounds flowed from Merlin's lips, piercing his left ear while his right kept the world muffled and away. His burning hand was enveloped by Merlin's, the liquid gold flooding his eyes, chasing away the stars behind the dark rims. Mordred stared, dazed. They filled with plumes of smoke, with the fear, and Merlin's face twitched, flinching. The burning cooled, drifted away. Then the muffled world was strung through a filter, each passing second leaving it clearer and comprehensible. The blood rushing in his ear calmed. Slowed.

 Sounds, awareness, crashed into him and for a second he forgot how to breathe.

 Merlin brushed his face. 'Better?'

 He nodded, stomach lurching when they rushed through London. People and buildings blurred until they stopped, standing in his hotel room. The firm and soft hold Merlin had on him left once he was lying on the bed.

'Thank you,' Mordred said, tongue dry and throat scratchy. Smoke, hot air, had left another mark. Merlin hovered next to him, the gold dying away, his face pinched with whatever he'd taken away from Mordred.

 The harsh metallic ring of the phone pierced the silence. His gut squirmed with realisation. Control the people with power, you have the power. Fake a terrorist attack? Distract, bring them out of hiding, strike. All the pieces had been there and he hadn't put it together.

'My fault,' he croaked out, propping himself up on his elbows. Merlin's fingers brushed his throat instinctively, the last sign of the explosion wiped from his body.

'What is?'

'It's my fault. The bomb.'

'Bomb? How do you know-'

'It's why I'm here. Met Intelligence. Old Religion,' he explained, giving Merlin the last morsels of anything he'd kept secret. ‘They told me their plan. It's probably happening right now.'

‘You’re a spy? Morgana's-'

'Not her. The only thing she cares about is making things balanced. Equal. There's no time-'

Mordred made to get up but Merlin pushed him back down. It was rough. Final. Controlling.

'There's no time,' he said again but Merlin covered his mouth with his own, drowning all words, and time fell away. Hot. Wet. Sweet. Familiar but new. Hands slid around his neck, gently, as Merlin climbed over him. His eyes finally closed as they shared breaths. It eased him back into their time together before Morgana destroyed it all, and then eased him into something deeper, sweeter.

'Mordred,' he said when he pulled away, their noses touching. 'You could have died, and all you want to talk about is Old Religion? You could have died.'

'I didn't, and I thought,' Mordred began, words sticking in his throat. He had to question it though. Question Merlin's state of mind, so focused and hurt and confused. 'You and Arthur.'

'This . . . It's different. Not like that,' he said, hand running over Mordred's collarbone to rest on his chest, above the ink. 'The magic, this connection. I don't get it, but I need it. No one else understands what all of this is like.'

 Merlin's words plucked at his thoughts. He did understand. Felt it in their magic which wrapped them together on the bed. Merlin had shown him everything a week ago. He'd shown Merlin everything in turn. They understood each other. Helped each other. The warlock groaned, head falling forwards onto the pillow next to Mordred.

 A moment passed before he lifted it again. 'Can I just kiss you? I've been feeling like shit and kissing you feels nicer. No complications.'

'What happened at Christmas-'

'You're not him. I'm not that Merlin either, okay? Cut the ties, be stronger, remember?'

'Okay.'

 Merlin lowered his mouth again, and Mordred let him. It was warm, earnest. Magical. No facade, no act, just his regrets and his loves matched with the other man's. His hands ran up Merlin's waist, back, arms, each touch met with muscle and bone through cloth, hard and honed.

 Merlin's fingers tugged at his curls, the small pain jogging his mind out of the reverie.

 He couldn't. The fear still squeezed inside his chest, the ink over his heart burning. Reminding him. _Exhale. Inhale._ Merlin's breath became his and then he released it, gently pushed him away.

 The heavy brows pushed together, starry eyes dark like the night sky. 'What is it?'

'I can't,' he said. 'I am him. I will always be him. You can't escape the past, Merlin. You understand?'

'No,' Merlin replied and sat up to straddle his hips. 'I don't. This is good. It's just kissing, Mordred. You almost died, and I-'

'What? You what?' he challenged, but there was no bite in his words. 'You're confused.'

'You think you know my mind?'

'I know it better than most. We have a connection, remember?'

'Exactly.'

'You're wrong, okay? This? This isn't good. It can’t be,’ he said, rising to close the gap between them. His fingers traced the arch of Merlin's eyebrow, trailing down to the hollow of his cheek, the curve of his jaw. 'Not now anyway. I love you, but I'm not ready. Don't think you are either.'

 Merlin leaned into his hand. 'Mordred. You're the only one-'

'Hey, you said it yourself,' he cut in, nose touching Merlin's. 'It's just kissing.'

'I suppose.'

 Mordred closed his eyes, wrapped himself in Merlin's warmth, felt their hearts beat to the thrumming tune of the magic tied between them. He let it go. 'We really need to leave.’

 Mordred stood up after Merlin climbed off to stand beside him.

'I'm sorry,' Merlin said, voice low and personal. Intimate. Mordred kept his eyes on the rumpled bed covers, seeing their movements in the creases and folds of the sheets. 'For everything that's happened to you. Us.'

 He dragged his eyes away to meet Merlin's. 'It's not your fault.'

 The magic shivered. Mordred Vanished, Merlin latching onto him as they swept through everything in their way.

 

* * *

 

 Arthur sipped at the bitter coffee. It burned his tongue. He took another mouthful. His team were either sat contemplating how fucked they all were, or immersed in heated debates about the terrorist attacks which had hit London that morning. Over twenty shops, banks and offices had been obliterated consecutively over the span of ten minutes. It was a horror show. Blood bath. Hundreds dead or wounded. Something about it involved magic. He knew it.

 Scotland Yard, the Met, were already stretched thin in all departments and now they were spinning out of control. Every order restoring, peace keeping and lifesaving organisation was out in mass trying to control the situation, and they had to sit like a row of ducks about to get shot by a ten year old who had no appreciation for stable trophic levels.

_I can't watch you die._ What does that even mean? Saying it _will_ happen was even more confusing. Unless Merlin planned to kill him. Unlikely. Then again.

'Haven't heard from Merlin?' Gwaine said through a mouthful of an M&S wrap.

 He took another swig. 'Not a word.'

'Chin up, mate,' Gwaine said as he shifted away from the arguing Percy and Leon to give Arthur his full attention. 'This is a lot to go through and he's probably just collecting his thoughts.'

'Last time he did that he didn't show up again for days. He's been different since that weekend and he thinks he's protecting me or something,' he trailed off, staring at the unappetising brown of the office's instant coffee. 'I don't know. He seems darker. Preoccupied. We can't afford to have him disappear again. He'll lose his rank, and at best get suspended with Cenred's accusations.'

'Can't have him visiting suspects in ongoing Operations, can we?'

'Percy's sure he saw Merlin go to Aredian's?' Arthur pressed when DCS Agravaine stepped out of his office with DCI Kilgharrah. Leaving the mug on his desk he marched up to them. 'We need to do something.'

'This task force is henceforth disbanded,' DCS Agravaine said before he could get another word out. The arguing stopped.

 Arthur stepped back. 'What?'

'You still have your jobs, and you'll be designated to separate teams,' he went on. DCI Kilgharrah observed silently. 'There are plenty of crimes in need of good investigators after all.'

'What about Merlin?' Gwaine asked, Agravaine's mouth pursing for a second.

'Suspended without pay until we get this sorted out,' he said. 'He'll either be reinstated or thrown behind bars.'

 Leon came to Arthur's side. 'We're the only ones who know about-'

'Magic? Interesting how that fact has yet to help us. Maclain has had a near mental breakdown, no tangible cause of death for Thornberry and press who have been waiting to eat us alive since Morgana went on trail in January.'

'Aredian?' Leon asked, firmly picking up the torch where Arthur had dropped it in shock.

'If there's nothing more than Merlin's _gut feeling_ , the surveillance will end. Innocent until proven guilty. This has been an embarrassment. A waste of precious resources, and your talent. An official internal relations review is being launched. I suggest you all go make yourselves useful and help with the mass terrorist strike. DCI Kilgharrah has already organised your placements.'

 Leon stared him down for a few more seconds before stiffly crossing over to their favoured superior. He gave Leon a piece of paper before leaving them. Arthur couldn't believe it. Didn't want to. Counting to ten he went for the paper listing their new positions when Agravaine stopped him.

'I understand you and Merlin were involved. Don't do anything rash. For your own sake,' he warned. Arthur shrugged him off and accepted the paper from Leon before leading his team out of the office. Once they were securely within the lift and the doors had slid shut he ripped it down the middle. The destruction was musical, the mechanical whirring of the lift an urban accompaniment. Each hand balled up its half.

'Does this mean we go rogue?' Gwaine said as they stepped out onto the ground floor, heading to the main doors. 'Always fancied myself a bit too good looking to abide by the law all the time.'

 He held the door open for the rest of them. 'I need to find Merlin. Figure out the next move.'

'We all do,' Leon added while Arthur tried calling Merlin, the ringing cutting off for the voicemail. No answer. Predictable.

'He could be anywhere,' Gwaine reminded them as they headed to the car park. 'Across the world for all we know.'

'We start at the beginning. With Aredian,' Arthur said, pulling out his keys. He held them as he weighed their options. With the attack roads would be jammed, blocked, sectioned off. Traffic hell. Taking the tube was their best bet at getting to his house quickly. He slipped them back into his pocket. The air was still, unsettling, with the panic driving people this way and that around them.

 Gwaine kept in time with his strides. 'Rogue it is then.'

'Feels a bit more natural, doesn't it?' Arthur realised, the bitter coffee forgotten with each determined step. 'No Commissioner, no reports, no Agravaine to answer to.'

'Definitely. You seem a bit more kingly too.’

'Kingly?'

 Gwaine grinned at him. 'All you need is a crown.'

 Arthur gave the Irishman a smile as they made for the St James's Park station. The large Underground symbol jutted out from the dirty cement across the road.

 Leon kept pace behind them with Percy at his side. 'Elyan's pulling the surveillance shift, right?'

'Should be,' Arthur murmured.

'Personally I feel sorry for Gwen,' Leon said with a chuckle.

'She's got a soft soul,' Gwaine remarked. 'Perfect to soothe Maclain's nerves.'

 They swiped their way through the barriers and descended, merging with the masses as they headed to the home of a killer who'd been handed a get-out-of-jail-free card by Agravaine.

 

 The front door stood open when they arrived. Elyan climbed out of the car parked out front and jogged to meet them by the steps.

'I tried to call you,' he said, phone still in his hand.

'Took the tube,' Arthur muttered in return as he looked into the hallway, trying to judge the situation.

'Bad service,' Gwaine tagged on.

 Elyan touched his elbow, forcing him to look away from the unnerving sight. 'Arthur, Morgana's in there.'

 The bitter coffee flooded back into memory. 'With Aredian?'

'I didn't see him leave, so I'd guess so.'

 He started for the door but put his arm against Gwaine who made to join him.

'Just me.'

'Ever seen a horror movie?'

'She won't hurt me.'

'Here's hoping,' Gwaine said with palms lifted up in the air as he stepped back. Arthur headed on, holding his breath when he crossed the threshold. He didn't know what to expect.

 He passed the staircase and turned into the room on his left. 'Morgana?'

 Perched on an armchair with her hand folded together on her knees she was inhumanely still. A statue. A ghost. 'He's going to kill them.'

'Who?'

'Mordred. Merlin,' she said, looking up at him. He could see the fear shine in her eyes. His heart twitched. She'd had the same look in her eyes when he'd broken his arm falling out of a tree. That was before university, the Met, before it all changed. 'That's why he came. Just like last time.'

 That look. He'd seen something similar in Merlin too, only more controlled, even more pained. Magic seemed to come with a non-refundable dose of secrecy, a view of the world he was sorely deprived of. 'What the hell are you doing here, Morgana?'

'Same as you, brother. Is it that hard to believe?' she said as she got up, shaking her hands as if they were wet. 'I can feel it. In the air. Old magic, spreading. Only it's wrong. Something about it is wrong. Won't matter for much longer, I suppose. I just need to know he's safe.'

'Where's Aredian?' Arthur pressed. She glared at him, frustrated with something. Him? Herself? 'Do you know where Merlin is?'

 She paced around the room like a tiger in a cage. 'I can't see _anything_. Only the fire and the water. Time's running out, Arthur.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moved to uni in London a week ago so sorry if any posts are late - lectures haven't started yet so not sure about workload but I will definitely be updating with a new chapter every week (it's the day of that week which might change slightly). Just giving you fair warning :P


	10. Colours

 Mordred's magic twisted around his skin when they arrived. It was a jolting experience, being launched into millions of pieces and getting carried away, led by the younger man into a world he knew nothing about. The corridor was narrow and the air diseased with something foul. People were near. Merlin watched their colours drifting around, murky and warped. They had magic, but it was buried and abused. Vibrations ran into his skin through the fabric of his jeans. Reaching into the pocket he took the phone out and read Arthur's name on the screen. He held down the power button. The empty darkness swarmed across the screen in silence, then he hid the phone in his pocket.

 Merlin looked back up to Mordred and followed his gaze to the man leaning out of a doorway.

'And the sword returns,' the man remarked with a half-smile. The scarring, the stringy hair, the self conceited notes in his voice. Too familiar. Edwin Muirden. His heartbeat picked up. 'With Merlin. If Nimueh knew that you brought-'

 Mordred stormed over to him. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

'Tell you?'

'About the bombs,' he said, the aggressive movement shifting the two of them out of sight into the doorway's room. Merlin could still hear them as he slowly followed. He walked towards them in his new and surreal world. His grip on everything was slipping. Had already slipped. Determining how far he'd fallen was half the problem. Arthur, the pain, the denial. Mordred, the frustration and the comfort. Himself. The magic in his heart sharpened his senses, made him feel each emotion more acutely than the last. Day after day, night after night, hour after hour. It was driving him insane. The dirty colours of misused magic clawed at his trousers, hair and skin as he went.

'You know the answer, Mordred Leir. You're as unpredictable as the sea, and just as trustworthy. Why reveal our hand to a spy?'

 Merlin rounded the doorframe to witness Mordred's shock flash like lightning against the dark night of his expression. 'You knew?'

'Of course we knew. We're not stupid. You clearly loved thinking we were. Treating us like it. You, on the other hand,' Edwin laughed. Merlin kept to the doorframe, memories of the scarred man fuelling the growing fire in his veins. Some people didn't change. 'You're too late. The first stage is already complete.'

'What did you do?' Mordred asked. The storm crept into his entire face. Raging, ruthless, and naked. Exposed like the ocean's water to relentless winds. He was misled and tricked when he was supposed to be the grand liar. The desperation imbued his question and it made the blood in Merlin's veins seethe.

 Another laugh. 'You'll find out soon enough.'

 The crack of bone was grotesque. It sang out the tune Merlin's magic chose. 'What did you do?' he asked calmly. Repeated and reinforced with the painful warning, Mordred's words rose with weapons drawn and a banner to fly. Their owner stared at Merlin in silence, eyes wide.

 Edwin stifled his cry and cradled the broken arm. 'What should have been done decades ago. Why do you think we were all brought back? Anyone with magic remembers our past in time. Trauma kicks the memories in gear, and we get our fair share of trauma. I dare say I've known for longer than you both. The world has forgotten our kind though, and now our time has come again.'

'Everything comes to an end, Edwin,' Merlin said darkly, eyeing the gruesome wound and shifting the bone with his magic. The man winced, his attempts at healing it failing. His magic couldn't match Merlin's.

'Yes. Yes I suppose you'd know a lot about that,' he said through clenched teeth. The cool plaster of the doorframe kept Merlin grounded. Kept him from breaking the other arm. 'Today isn't magic's end, however. It's the breath of life so desperately needed. There was a time you would have celebrated it. You've changed, Merlin Emrys, and not for the better I fear.'

 Mordred moved closer to the injured man. 'What is Nimueh doing?'

'Currently?'

 His hairs stood on end at the sound of her voice. Turning his head to the side he met her burning blue eyes. Nimueh? Mordred had failed to mention her. Of all things to leave out, why her?

'You're an impressive sight, Merlin,' she said, fingers dancing up his arm to the peak of his shoulder, a coy smile cut into her face. 'Long time no see. No hard feelings, I hope? If anyone should be upset, it is me after all.'

 He jerked back and away. Now his heart was really giving him hell. She stank, the tinge she gave the air rotting away anything good. Anything with life. The corruption and his problematic memories made it hard to look her in the eye, but he didn't back down. Didn't blink.

'Torture won't work, if you were so inclined that is,' Nimueh said with an amused glance at Edwin's state. 'Leave now and turn your attention to that witchfinder. He's very interested in you, Merlin. Oh, and Mordred? You're no longer welcome here. This whole charade was fun while it lasted but it's become rather boring. If you come here again we'll kill you on sight.'

 Merlin couldn't breathe with the pollution in the air. How had Mordred done it? How had he survived the mangled excuse for magic which oozed from her? This place? The heat twisting through his body was suffocated by it. Mordred pulled him by the arm, led him outside where trees rustled in the soft breeze. Where cement walls, shelters, paths were streaked with the diseased stain of Old Religion's magic.

 Morgana was better. Manipulative, cruel, but she wasn't rotten. Not like them.

'What now?' he asked, processing it all.

 The laughter of children floated on the wind.

 Mordred stood next to him. 'We use what we have. We can't know what she's done from her own mouth, but that doesn't mean we can't know using magic. Combined we'll feel it. Find a trail.'

 Merlin's chest ached. He missed Arthur. The one person who couldn't understand, couldn't help without being defenceless against any retaliation. He missed his king. 'How long will it take?'

'Let's find out,' Mordred said. Merlin grabbed the other warlock's hand and Vanished, letting the spark of another's magic distract him from the ache. Was that why he'd kissed Mordred? It felt so intoxicating because it distracted him. Made him feel safer than he had months. Made him feel understood. All things he couldn't have with Arthur without telling him the truth. The truth that would break his heart and Merlin's. If it wasn't torn in two already.

 

 They landed in the empty living room, dark and silent. Through the shadows even darker shapes marked out the boxes which still clung to Gwaine's green touch. The ache lightened.

'Where are we?' Mordred asked.

'My flat,' Merlin said, illuminating the space with one clear thought and a tingle of his magic. Light flooded the room, glowing brighter as the bulbs warmed with their electrical blood. Mordred look around as Merlin admired the richness of the colours that enveloped him. They'd been hidden when he saw him that first time at Scotland Yard. Enchantments hiding the reality. He didn't wear them when they were alone. Like how Merlin wasn't weighted with a past only he knew about. The thought of floating so freely with Arthur made those weights buckle down in spite. Made them dig their hard fingers into the sticky battleground of the memories.

 Mordred finished his study and smiled at him. 'Cosy.'

 He shifted on the spot. 'How do we find that trail?'

 Mordred smirked. 'Don't tell me I'm the experienced one here? Three years your junior, right?'

'I'm not entirely sure what we're looking for, so yes.'

'We'll be going into each other's minds again. Just a warning,' he added.

'First time wasn't that bad,' Merlin said, noticing how Mordred flinched at the mention of it. He'd seen into the man's past life, and present one. What he saw, the darkness clouding Mordred's childhood, left him furious and heartbroken. Left him in awe of Mordred's character, not the one created by Morgana, not the past Mordred driven by betrayal and anger. The one who stood before him, determined to stop something bad, to make amends and more.

'Follow my lead,' Mordred told him. He moved up to him, imperceptibly shorter. Mordred closed his eyes and after a moment's hesitation Merlin did the same. Silence. Breaths. The magic blew over him like the warm breeze had. Bathed him. Merlin freed his own magic and the power joined hands with Mordred's. They drew their breaths as one, hearts thumping in time, and in the darkness it bloomed.

 From one point of origin blue and white sparks and stars poured out. Powdery, fine, sparkling dust shifted through the shadows like waves as London sprawled below them. Every structure, every person, vaulted up from the waves with pulsing colours and edges marked by the glimmering lights.

 Somewhere Merlin knew his feet pressed down onto the wooden floor of his new flat. That Mordred stood opposite, eyes shut, breathing. Yet, floating in the dark expanse and looking down onto a glittering outline of the city, reality fell away.

 Diving down into the beating city it was blatant. The murky brown which smothered a select few. Their vibrancy smeared and slathered with the corrupted enchantments. Joining a sea of colours, of sparkling silhouettes, Merlin reached out. His hand was shadow, like the rest of the illusion. When it touched the corrupted and faceless body the sludge recoiled. It started to drip off, crumbling below their feet and merging with the darkness.

 Mordred, a fellow shadow, did the same a street away. They went on like that, brushing their hands, their magic, against the enchantments and letting them blow away like dead leaves in Autumn. No faces, clear features, no detail of any kind. They swam around the outlines which brimmed over with the shades and hues of their lives; Worked around the bustling people, vehicles, the constant motion which went on in silence. They explored London put on on mute, only seeing its bare bones and aura.

 Merlin found and eliminated the last muddy mark Nimueh had left, then the outlines burst and the colours and shapes of people ruptured. Silent, violent, it all showered downwards, the darkness swallowing it all.

 They were both tossed out of the muted world. Merlin's eyes opened, gasping for breath when his legs failed him and he hit the hard floor. Mordred collapsed too, groaning loudly. Ambient noise polluted the air and scents swarmed Merlin's senses. The light was blinding and he closed his eyes, rolling onto his back as laughter bubbled up his throat.

'That was weird,' Mordred said through his own elated chuckles.

'It was amazing,' Merlin remarked, the grin filling his face with no room to spare. The weariness hit him a second later, and his laughs died down.

'You feeling tired?' Mordred asked him, also falling quieter.

'Very,' he breathed before sleep hauled him away from the world and plunged him into his mind's recesses.

 

* * *

 

 Arthur jogged down the street, the towering white houses rising into the night sky on his left. Each home identified as separate only by the balcony and two columns stretching down to border the entrance. They were period conversions, probably one of the reasons Merlin had chosen to move there. He'd said something about feeling the history in the walls of the flat they had shared.

 It was the last place he could be.

 Bounding up the steps he readied himself, about to do his best at breaking down the door. Merlin's refusal to answer his phone had stripped his patience. Morgana tugged him back.

'Don't be ridiculous,' she snapped, unravelling another strand of their shared childhood. He hated himself for wanting to smile. One second he saw the Morgana he'd loved, then he recalled what she'd done. It stung.

 Her open palm twisted in the air in front of the handle. The tumblers inside the lock lifted and let her open it the next second. The door clicked open, barely making a sound.

'At least the press are gone,' Gwaine said, nudging Arthur who'd been glaring at Morgana. 'We got to drop his things off this morning.'

'Mass casualties tend to have that affect,' she remarked with the touch of a smile in her eyes. She still had her dark humour. The light grew brighter and she looked at the door. 'They're inside.'

 Arthur moved forward, passed Morgana, through the door. Into Merlin's flat. Two doors, a stairwell winding upwards, then another door on the right, light streaming out to cast a golden rectangle onto the wooden floor. He stepped into it. Two bodies laid motionless. His heart missed a beat.

 Running into the room he fell to the floor where Merlin rested. Swallowing the bitterness at seeing Mordred beside him, Arthur pulled Merlin into his arms and shook him gently.

 He tried to ignore how stretched out and pale he was, the sharpness of his cheekbones which made the hollows of his cheeks seem gaunter than usual. 'Merlin? Merlin can you hear me?'

'Arthur?' he said, voice thick with sleep and heavy lids opening slightly. Arthur drank in the sight, the relief. Merlin was fine. With dark lashes, a five o'clock shadow and soft curls brushing his forehead. It had been forever since he'd seen Merlin wake up with such intimacy. Morgana crouched down next to Mordred who tried to roll over, hitting her calf. The bastard sat up and she wrapped him in a tight hug.

'Where have you been? I was so worried. I had a dream where you were drowning, and everything was burning, and Merlin,' she rushed out, grip never loosening, 'he broke a mirror and then you were standing bloody in a street where people were screaming.'

 Merlin used Arthur as a support as he pushed himself up, looking over to the bastard who, while groggy, shared an expression of concern.

'Coincidence?' the bastard said.

'Never is,' Merlin replied. Arthur watched as they shared that expression, the secret.

'Were you with him this entire time?' he asked, his voice betraying the hurt he felt, the hatred towards the bastard. It didn't make sense. His gut knew this scene was wrong, like he was seeing a puzzle picture they'd both completed before, only he was missing half the pieces. Merlin was an idiot but he couldn't be that big an idiot.

'No, I,' Merlin started, stopping as he turned to face Arthur with a frown. 'Why are you here?'

 The memory of that bitter coffee wouldn't leave him alone. 'Looking for you. You've been suspended until everything with Cenred is sorted. We've all been taken off the Thornberry case.'

 No response. Merlin just stared at him with a frown. The uncomfortable whispers Mordred and Morgana exchanged forced Arthur to look up and see an odd smirk on the bastard's face.

'What did you do to him?' he asked, frustrated with his apparent ignorance.

'We had a deep, meaningful conversation,' the bastard said as he got to his feet and offered his hand to Merlin. Arthur quickly helped the idiot he loved, the idiot he hated for being so loveable, get up. 'I should go.'

 The bastard shifted away from Morgana and pressed his lips to Merlin's. A hot, freezing paralysis trapped Arthur. Held him still as Mordred left. Made him watch Merlin do nothing stop him. He even looked amused by something. Until he saw Arthur. Then the shadows fluttered over his features, showing what could have been mistaken as guilt. It didn't make sense.

'Mordred told me he hadn't seen you,' Morgana said.

 Merlin seemed to study her. 'When did he say that?'

'Last week.'

'One week can change a lot of things,' he said, and the words rippled through Arthur's thoughts. It really could. Merlin seemed so at ease, so impartial, so cold.

'Is that why you broke things off?' Arthur said, his features taught with anger. 'For him?'

 Merlin opened his mouth when Gwaine jumped between the two of them. It didn't make sense, only it also did in a horrible way. A way Arthur couldn't understand. Didn't want to understand.

'He tried to rape you,' he spat, his features flashing between disgust, confusion and sadness as his thoughts spun. Merlin's eyes froze over with an impenetrable sheet of ice and he turned away to face Morgana. Gwaine's hands were on Arthur's shoulders and he told him to leave it alone. Did Gwaine know something too? How else could he say that?

'Was it you who left my fingerprints at Thornberry's?' Merlin questioned her.

'Yes,' Morgana said. Arthur ran a hand through his hair and waved Gwaine away, back into the foyer. 'Found him dead and thought it might make your life more interesting,'

 Merlin nodded. 'Thought so. Was he one of your sponsors? The ones who helped you wreck my image in court?'

'Mordred told you?' she asked with disbelief. Arthur's fists were clenched at his sides as he counted to ten over and over again in his mind.

 Merlin skirted the question, 'You really want me behind bars, don't you?'

'I did,' Morgana said, and again there was that pang of memory. Of comfort and love he'd once felt for her. That he still felt somewhere. It twisted around every other conflicting thought and added to strength of his bafflement and relentless confusion. They were slowly killing him.

'Not anymore?' Merlin said.

 She smiled. It was soft. Kind. 'If anyone can kill the witchfinder, it's you. If he happens to kill you I can't say I'd be too upset, but still.'

'Can someone tell me what's going on?' Arthur practically pleaded, tired of listening to conversations he didn't understand. Merlin looked at him with that same frown pushing down on his face.

'Where's Aredian?' he asked. Arthur ground his teeth. He's avoiding me. Avoiding an explanation.

'He wasn't at his house or office,' Gwaine told him. 'Merlin, we need to know what's going on so we can help.'

'He doesn't want your help,' Morgana said gently, fixing her stare to Arthur's. 'Doesn't need it.'

'Arthur-'

'Stop it, okay?' Arthur cut Merlin off. He was calm again, but the anger continued to tear itself to pieces again and again in a corner of his mind, and everything was stained by that blasted bitter coffee. 'Just stop it. Stop shutting me out.'

 Morgana looked to Merlin. 'Should I tell him?'

'No,' he answered. Curt. Authoritative.

'Sure?'

'If you even try to I'll-'

'Kill me? Hurt me?' she challenged. Merlin was unfazed by the violence she assigned to him. Cenred, Mordred, the secrets were constant and Arthur knew they hid something dark. 'Well, it's not as if the truth did much good last time.'

 Arthur blinked and then Morgana was gone.

 He unclenched his hands and faced Merlin. 'Tell me what?'

'Arthur,' Gwaine interrupted. 'Maybe we should keep out of this magic stuff.'

'We didn't last time,' he scoffed and shifted closer to Merlin, blocking out the Irishman. 'Do you even care that our team's been abolished? That you could lose your job? Could be killed? That the rest of us are probably out of jobs by coming here to help you?'

'Of course I care,' Merlin said.

'Then act like it.'

 A resentful, mournful look fell over Merlin's face like shutters. 'I am, Arthur. You want me to be who I was. I can't be. Not anymore. I am caring. I'm trying to stop all of this. You can't help me. Not this time. This is my problem, not yours.'

'If it's yours, it's mine too,' Arthur said without hesitation. 'I can help, if you'd just let me. Talk to me. About Mordred, about the magic, about that weekend you disappeared. Talk to me about the nightmares that made you scream each night for two weeks straight.'

 He heard Gwaine shift out of the room. The shadows hiding Merlin's truths began to lift, sincerity growing in the man's blue eyes. 'Merlin, I love you and I need to help you, and I hate that I do. I wish I didn't at this point. Just don't say I can't, cause it might just kill me. Not being able to do anything? It would end me.'

 Merlin sighed and moved up to him. 'Arthur, I-'

 A wall of powders and dust slammed Merlin to the side, billowing out in thick clouds like something organic before it surged outward and drowned the room. Arthur choked on it, trying to see through the fog of grey and violet particles. It was like wading through tar, the coloured particles clinging to and dragging against him.

'Merlin?' he called out before doubling over in a coughing fit when he sucked in a lungful of the powder. The smog was so thick he had to squeeze his eyes shut to stop the burning sensation.

'Arthur?' Gwaine yelled to him as he tried to breathe calmly and inhale some of the remaining clean air. The dust made a strange tinkling noise around him. Arthur began to crawl towards what he hoped was the door when the powder collapsed, hitting the ground like a sheet. Arthur looked up at Gwaine who was searching the room with wide eyes, the other three looming behind him. 'Where's Merlin?'

 Arthur couldn't see him. Just the dirty powder layering every available surface, including himself. He was gone.


	11. Brushstrokes

 Merlin gagged, curled on his side. His throat was raw, dry and persistent with its scratching whenever her tried to swallow. He squinted at the new surroundings but the objects and colours were roughly distorted as if painted with manic brushstrokes.

'You thought I wouldn't realise?' Nimueh spat at him. She was a blur of gloomy shades, towering over him as he did his best to stand up. 'A grave mistake. It took a lot of effort, Merlin. It hurt. Now it needs to be redone. For that, you now need to hurt. It'll make me feel a lot better.'

 His clothes, skin, it all felt rough, enveloped in a shroud of metallic powder. Words were swollen, thick, too thick to escape his throbbing throat or mouth. His shoulder splintered against the wall she threw him against. The pain shot up his neck and arm as he sank to the ground, dragging the numbing pain down with him. The heat in his veins refused to leave, his bones no longer imbued with its strength. It sat there, mingling with his blood, useless and heavy. Merlin tried to use the magic again when it crashed into his chest, winding him. It was nameless, faceless, bodiless. It rejected his attempt to use the power.

 Vision still hazy he realised Nimueh's approach too late. Her claw yanked him up again. He couldn't speak. Couldn't see properly. His magic kept refusing use. Stumbling backwards Nimueh hastened his inevitable fall with a blow to the cheek. His coccyx throbbed with the harsh impact. More cruelly dashed and jagged figures entered the room. Their polluted colours made it even harder to get a clear idea of how many, how tall, what gender. Retorts itched to get out, but his throat burned, dry and itching with the powder that stuck to it like grains of desert sand.

 A heel drove into his gut. The pain cut into him, sharp and sudden. A strange shout of pain shot out of him. Mixed with a deep groan, a forced exhalation and coarse with the ruined state of his throat it took a disjointed shape in the murky world. A hollow ache flooded the area a moment later. He coughed, tears summoned by his body's natural pain threshold. Another blow to his back and he was lying on his stomach, trying to stand, to fight, but each time he tried to use his magic the pressure on increased. Suffocating. The hits came again and again. They formed a sadistic beat like that for the marching pace of soldiers heading to war. To his legs, his head, his chest. Someone slammed down onto his arm. The break was audible. Merlin was distantly aware of what was happening, aware of the different kinds of pain testing and probing his body. Playing it to see what sounds it would make. Sharp, dull, hot or numbing. His mind was in the forest though. In the warm, unbelievable green forest where he ran. Chased someone. The filtered light crossed his skin like fingers giving him warm encouragement. He came to the tree line, and Camelot rose up in front of him, stoic and enduring. He closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar air, the berries and summer which infused the breeze and stained it with an intoxicating wine.

 

 A long, aggressive honk drilled Merlin back into reality. He woke up. It was wet. Really wet. The drops bursting on the tarmac splashed back onto his face. While it took him a minute or two, Merlin got up to his feet. The air was cooled by the rain, the sun hiding on the other side of Earth to leave him in the moon and star's hands. How long had it been since he and Mordred had postponed Nimueh's plans? _It took a lot of effort, Merlin._ The irritation in her voice brought a smile to his face, which creased the cut and bruised skin painfully. The distant awareness of violence and the patchwork of wounds now breathed against his ear and embraced him like a lover. The rain helped numb his skin as he began to walk, those sore limbs clinging around him with an enduring passion he wanted dead and gone.

 The powder became a grainy sludge on his clothing, hands, neck. He rubbed it off as thoughts fought for dominance. Arthur loved him. Nimueh hated him. Mordred still had to lie to Morgana. Where was Aredian? Why hadn't his magic worked? It was brutal and undignified. They battered each other, pulled hair, rammed shields and cut throats without mercy.

 Taking a deep breath, Merlin prepared to Vanish back to his flat. One step. Still raining, still cold. A second step. Cars and buses still charged along the street ahead. A third step. The pressure against his chest came close to knocking him out with the shock of the pain. Running to the side of the road he threw up. His throat burned with the natural acids and he wiped his mouth. Rain washed it away, taking it down into a gutter.

 Merlin gulped down the fear and carried on walking. The path turned left, a main road ahead with a row of stores across the traffic, their lights warming the darkness. A bus pulled up to a lettered stop and let on the group who'd been sheltering from the rain. The wheels of vans and cars, some bikes even, all threw up small sprays of water and made the air that much wetter. He recognised the area. Gwen had shown him around when he'd been looking for a place to stay, but it didn't resonate with him. Bermondsey. He shifted to the side of the pavement for the passersby. They didn't bat an eye at him, their laughs and conversations merging with the sounds of traffic. Merlin checked his pocket, felt the bump of his phone. Hope, warm and welcomed, flashed in his mind, but the screen was cracked, main body dented, and it refused to wake up. Ruined. He stuffed it back out of the rain.

 Every swallow went down with effort, painful and dry. He headed to the quieter path on the right, keeping to the edge, away from the road and the people. His feet dragged, muscles infused with a dull ache and bones brittle. An exposed nerve cell. Movement, the wind, it all hurt. Merlin kept his head down, letting the cracks and bumps of the pavement disappear from from view with each step. His lids were heavy, getting heavier. They drooped.

 A high-pitched squeak forced his eyes open again. The fallen bags were orange, their contents being adorned with a growing number of raindrops. After a string of apologies he bent down, ignoring the ache, and started packing the groceries back into their shelters.

'Bad time to visit Sainsbury's, don't you think?' he said through chattering teeth, the sound of his own voice foreign in its roughness. Merlin looked up at the woman he'd walked into and recognised the sweet brown eyes instantly.

 Gwen gasped, the embarrassed grin falling instantly. 'Merlin? What happened to you?'

 She crouched down, hands reaching for his face. He leaned away, worried by the ugly horror which claimed her face. He ached. He was wet. He couldn't remember what had happened, besides the pain. It told him enough to shy away from probing that mental line of inquiry further. She tucked a curl back under her parka's hood and helped him when he returned to packing up the spilled goods.

'We need to get you out of this rain,' she went on once they were done and he'd stood back up with two of the bags. 'My place is five minutes away, come on.'

 She didn't wait for him, leaving him with her shopping and the obligation to follow. The rain kept conversation to a minimum, as did her looks of concern. They came to the wall before the Thames where Gwen turned right and led him into one of the attached houses. It was peaceful, and inside was free from the noise of traffic which had polluted the air several streets back. She turned on the lights, dropping her lot of bags on the kitchen's work surface before shedding the coat.

 Merlin had just put his own down when Gwen started to lift his shirt's hem. A surprised chuckle escaped him and he stopped her.

'I can do that myself,' he said, hating how the words scraped in his throat.

'Of course, I know you can,' Gwen said, folding her arms. Her eyes darted from him to the staircase. 'Uhm, Lance keeps some clothes here. I'm sure he won't mind if you borrow a few things. Do you want to change in the bedroom?'

 She left without an answer, leaving him with the obligation once again. Merlin followed, his movements slow as his body came to fully acknowledge whatever had injured it. She laid out some clothes on the bed, closing the dresser drawer and walking over to where he waited in the doorway.

'They might be a bit big,' she said. 'But, well, you've bulked up and they could have a better fit. All those visits to the gym paid off.'

 Her warm smile couldn't hide that look in her eyes, and the ache in his body spread into his mind. It throbbed in time to his heartbeat.

'I should go,' he breathed, the headache beating his thoughts bloody.

'Merlin,' she started and grabbed his hand to stop him walking away. 'Let's catch up. Once you've changed. Oh, and I need to go pack away the shopping.'

 Gwen pulled him into the room and then left, closing the door to give him privacy. Controlling his breathing, Merlin shut his eyes and concentrated on the temperature in the room. The smells. His stomach dove with nausea. No colours. Gwen didn't have any colours. No one had. He looked at the grey shirt and jeans she'd set out. There was nothing else to see. Fibres, discrepancies in their colours, bronze buttons and zip on the jeans. Everyday details but nothing magical.

 Merlin tugged off the sopping shirt and left it in a bundle on the floor as he stripped down. His own jeans were torn, his blood staining them, just like the shirt. The plum coloured bruise glared at him from his reflection in the mirror above the dresser. Merlin stood in his underwear, staring. It was like a child had taken a permanent marker and shaded in half his abdomen, only to then have an angry mother throw her wine and darken the stain further. The bruises marked his legs, arms, with his skin broken over the point of his right collar bone, cheekbone. It was extensive. Ugly. Painful.

 He saw what Gwen had and more. The black eye had already started to bloom and the split in his lip explained the stinging he'd felt. Gwen knocked at the door.

'Do you want some water?' she said through the wood. Merlin's eyes now burned as well and he swallowed down the aching lump in his throat. Why couldn't he remember? 'Merlin?'

 The door opened and Gwen froze. 'Merlin, you need to go to a hospital.'

 Merlin pushed his palm out to stop her renewed approach. 'I'm fine.'

 She stopped, holding the glass of water in her hands while sincere eyes surveyed his injuries. 'What happened?'

'I don't know. I don't,' Merlin trailed off as Arthur's words smudged his thoughts in memory. _Here to help. Could lose your job. Abolished._ He let out a controlled breath and started pulling on Lance's, Lancelot's, spare jeans. 'I'm not sure. I'm fine though.'

'It must hurt. You could have internal bleeding.'

'Not really, and I don't. Trust me, I'm fine,' he said, covering most signs of an assault with the foreign clothing. The warm fibres of the jumper and the surprisingly soft jeans irritated his wounds and he promised to clean them magically whenever he returned them.

 Gwen hovered behind him. 'Can't you use magic to heal yourself?'

 There it was. Smart question. It made his stomach wrench. The crushing in his chest had all but disappeared but he wouldn't dare bring it back. Merlin did up the zipper, popped in the bronze button, picked up the wet clothes. She was still staring, the question strangled in the air by his silence.

'Vivian's come to terms with magic,' she said instead, holding the water out to him in exchange for the wet clothing. He accepted and followed her back to the kitchen where she bagged them. The water soothed his dry throat, a shiver running through him. 'It's wasted with Agravaine shutting everything down. If anything she's a liability. Not that she isn't a wonderful person . . . Actually she isn't very nice either.'

 Merlin laughed, ribs sore and protesting against the act. Gwen smiled and continue to unpack the food. He helped in spite of the new tendrils of pain unfurling across his body.

'I'm pretty sure Arthur was drunk when he slept with her,' she said after balling up an empty bag, the plastic crinkling in her hand. Drunk and enchanted. History always repeats itself. Then again, he'd been with Arthur this time around. Until that had backfired. Maybe that was what fate wanted all along. A stupid concept but Merlin couldn't help believe that it existed. At that point he didn't have much choice.

 Merlin breathed. 'Don't worry about any of that, okay?'

'How can I not? Arthur's my best friend. So are you, Merlin,' Gwen said, honest fingers touching his arm. 'At least you were.'

 He chuckled, one second seeing Gwen the detective, the next seeing a servant, then a queen. 'How lucky am I for bumping into you of all people? The one with the kindest heart.'

 The small furrow between her brows melted away. 'Have you had dinner yet?'

'What do you think?' he asked, pointing at his beaten face with grin which made his broken lip sear. 'I don't want to impose though, and there are things I need to check up on-'

'I just spent the day with Vivian Maclain, then helped control the chaos from a massive attack across London. I deserve dinner with a friend I miss. Especially when he's bleeding and concussed.'

'You're right,' he said. That's why he couldn't remember. Is that why he couldn't use his magic? Probably.

 Gwen smiled and dropped the bag into a basket of its fellows. 'Help me cut the spring onions?'

'Love to.'

 

* * *

 

'These attacks, Old Religion was behind it?'

'Yes,' Mordred said, keeping pressure on the tissues he held against his bleeding nose. Aglain had his arms folded, leaning against the hotel room's wall.

'And they did this to you?'

 Mordred did his best to speak clearly. 'Knew I was an intelligence officer.'

'How,' Aglain started, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. 'Can you find any evidence?'

'I can,' he said, finally pulling the red tissues away and checking the flow of blood had finally stopped. 'Might not come back alive.'

 His supervisor nodded. 'You've already risked enough. I'll send in one of the other operatives.'

 Mordred scoffed, throwing the tissues into the bin under the table. 'They all die, remember?'

'Harsh.'

'I'll do it,' he said, rubbing the nape of his neck and wincing.

'You said it yourself. Coming back alive, with them knowing what you really are, has a slim to zero chance of happening,' Aglain said, undoing the buttons of his blazer before tucking the same hand into his pocket. 'Then again, you are the first to survive, and the best. I'd tell you to feel honoured, but with the beating they gave you?'

 Mordred smiled, running his fingers over his swelling left wrist. 'There's no honour among thieves.'

'So you'll steal the required proof?'

'Why not? I stand the best chance. One of them, Edwin Muirden, I've seen him mixing powders. Traces of explosives could still be there.'

'Did today's attacks have anything to do with their plot to take over?'

'Can't tell. Could have,' Mordred said as another train roared past in the distance, a chip of the ceiling's paint shaken from its home. It spiralled and swirled down through the air to rest on his knee. He'd pretended at the train tracks that night. What would have stopped them from doing the same to him? Pretending was something magic-users had to be good at after all. World class liars the lot of them. 'They probably fed me false information.'

'When will you be able to get it?'

'The second I can move without wanting to throw up from the pain,' he said with a grin. Or was it a grimace?

'Whatever your past discretions, Mordred, this more than makes up for it,' Aglain told him with a look of admiration, respect. He hardly deserved it. Forgiven by Merlin, respected by his supervisor, none of it felt okay. Arthur's derision, that was what felt okay. 'Rest, then get the evidence. For Queen and country.'

 Aglain shot him a smile of camaraderie and left him to sit alone on the bed in the hotel. He lowered his sore bones back against the covers, remembering the heat of Merlin's mouth, how stupid he had been to let that happen. Stupid. He groaned and blinked away any semblance of tears at the inability to soothe his pain. He couldn't heal. Couldn't Vanish. Couldn't do _anything_ magical, and at the worst time of all. The mark on his chest had been burning more since he and Merlin had joined their powers earlier that day, and it seemed to thread angriness into the aching wounds. No magic, no healing, lots of pain. The powder which dusted his clothes, which clouded his memory of the attack, bore an irritating resemblance to the kind Edwin used. They left him defenceless, at least for now, but it would wear off. When it did he would get the proof and shut them down for good. Even if too late for the people who'd died from the bombs, like he almost had. For now Old Religion was safe, but not forever.

Not from him.

 

* * *

 

'How've you been? Besides the addition of the inspirational Dr Lance,' Merlin said, putting their cleared plates into the dishwasher. He'd devoured the simple curry in five minutes flat. Nothing to eat the whole day, and he didn't even notice until he took a bite of Gwen's divine cooking.

 Gwen gave him a knowing look from the dining table. 'You mean my dad? I've been coping. Elyan's helped too. Lance has been my real life saver.'

'Good. You deserve someone wonderful,' he said, returning to the wooden chair beside hers.

'So do you, Merlin,' Gwen said with that familiar sweetness. Merlin sat down and heard the door click behind him. Gwen's face lit up. 'Lance.'

 She jumped up and met him as he came in, still pulling off the light jacket when she kissed him. Merlin got up again. He was the intruder in their occasionally shared home, disturbing their domestic peace.

'Never thought that shirt could look good on anyone, but you make it look downright handsome. Glad to see you, Merlin,' Lance said once he'd planted another kiss on her cheek. His initial glance turned into a confused examination. 'What happened?'

'He can't remember,' Gwen answered.

'Concussion?' Glance guessed with a confirmatory look to Gwen before he rushed over to Merlin, pushing him gently back onto the chair. 'Here, sit down. Let me take a look.'

 Merlin tried to bat him away. 'I'm fi-'

'Who spent twelve years studying medicine?' Lance asked as he tilted Merlin's head to one side then the other. Merlin noted how clean Lance smelled, how fresh. Sharp jawline, thick hair, honest eyes like Gwen's. 'This was vicious. Why haven't you gone to a hospital?'

 Gwen sighed. 'He refuses.'

'Merlin, they could have done some serious damage. In fact, they probably have,' Lance told him as he moved onto the marks on his neck. 'You need to go to the ER.'

'I'm fine, Lance,' Merlin said, stopping the examination and getting back to his feet. 'I heal fast.'

 Lance looked him over, the stare clinical and scientific. 'Are there any other injuries?'

'Just a few bruises, that's all.'

'More than a few,' Gwen added.

 Lance's frown was deep and filled with disbelief. 'How could anyone attack a police officer?'

'Thank you for the wonderful dinner, Gwen, and for the concern from you both,' Merlin said as he headed for the door, slipping on his shoes and snatching up the bag of wet clothes. 'I need to go home. I'll dry clean your things, Lance. Get them back to you as soon as possible.'

 Their mouths opened to stop him, but he was out the door and breathing the warm night air before they could. The exhaustion snaked around him and tightened its hold, squeezing out a catlike yawn. The rain had finally spent itself and subsided, leaving him a dry journey to the tube. His wallet, somewhere in the bag of his wet things, held his oyster securely.

  _I love you. I need to help you. Stop. Stop. Act like it. Act._

 Merlin wanted to ignore the words. Ignore the pain. See the colours. He only had the duller, darker and human view of the pavement, then lazy shifting waters of the Thames. More of the same when he entered a tube carriage and sped away on the long commute back to his new flat.

 When he finally got back each step was searing and his left ankle had somehow twisted itself on the walk from Notting Hill Gate. He was too tired to remember how, only that it was a new injury he couldn't hope to fix without the unbearable pressure.

 He guessed it was just after midnight, neighbours having quietened down and the streets calmer. The day's attacks had probably killed the party spirit inherent in a Friday night too.

 The lights were still on and Merlin kept his footsteps light after putting the bag down by the front door. He edged through the foyer and checked the bathroom, kitchen, the courtyard through the kitchen's windows. Clear. He couldn't hear anything from the bedroom upstairs but left it on the checklist as he went to the living room.

 The name left his lips like a hawk diving off a cliff. 'Arthur.'

 He regretted it when the man shifted, probably failing to make the uncomfortable sleeping position any better. He was propped up against a stack of boxes, head hanging down to the side and a fine line of drool escaping the corner of his open mouth.

 Merlin smiled and stifled his laughter. He grinned to himself for a minute more before hunting down a blanket and dragging it out of the box. He laid it over Arthur and he crouched down next to him. He brushed one of the blond hairs away from his face before standing and turning off the lights, locking up and climbing the winding stairs to the barren bedroom.

 He tried lying on the ground, but it made his wounds burn. Burn and burn and burn. He had to get up. Calming his breathing he remembered to take off his shoes, and then he stood in the silence. In the darkness. His eyes were tired. He was tired and sore. Down. First step, another, a few more, then no more stairs. No colour, just the shadows. Merlin saw the dark shape of Arthur in the living room and sank to the wooden floor next to him, leaning in and making use of his shoulder as a pillow. Cherishing his warmth. Knees pulled up to his chest, Merlin closed his eyes. Breathed in Arthur as he had during their first months together in their new world. Modern world. He breathed in Arthur without magic. Humanly. It was wonderful and comforting. It was cruel to fall asleep with him like this. But he was so tired and sore. Arthur was so warm.

Arthur was home.


	12. Wild Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So last week was hectic, and I'm sorry for the wait but the next chapter's now here ^_^

 They wouldn't shut up. Ringing over and over and over again. Violent images flooded his partly dreaming thoughts, a dreaminess which conjured the killing grasp of hands around an irritating neck. The knots in his back hardened each passing moment he laid against the cardboard, and the edge of one box dug into his spine with a cruel, unknown motive.

 The doorbell was insistent and impatient, his ears ringing in symphony to the audible assault. Arthur dared to open his eyes. The room shone with the light which streamed in like a river through the courtyard's doors. The bell droned on. A blanket kept his legs warm. Merlin's. The other heat source slept in a ball next to him. Merlin. His head kept company with the hard floor by Arthur's hip, clearly too exhausted to care. His sleeping frame’s resemblance to a cat, with the curled up limbs and steady soft breaths, led him to stroke that dark fur, hair, which richly covered his head.

 A fondness bloomed in his chest, then found itself plucked at and torn. A dark sheen had taken to one of Merlin’s eyes, skin stretched broken over his cheekbone, a gash cut its way from his temple to hide beyond his hairline. Arthur’s fingers were drawn to the marks of blood and bruises written on Merlin’s blank face. The ringing sprung into life again. Silently cursing he pushed himself up to his feet and jogged over to the flat’s door, unlocked it and stormed into the communal hallway before he threw the front door open.

 Vivian Maclain's eyes widened. 'Why are you here?'

'Why are you?' Arthur asked, blinking against the sunlight. 'What time is it?'

'Ten twenty. I'm here to see Merlin,' she said with a pout.

'Why?'

 She scoffed and crossed her arms. 'To tell him to keep away from Scotland Yard, me, you, everyone.'

'And why would he do that?'

'Because he's destroying your lives,' she spat. 'Ever since he joined your team he's been dragging you down. Not even thirty and he's already under more scrutiny than some of the Met's greatest disgraces.'

 Arthur ground his teeth. 'Vivian-'

'He's ruining you.'

'It's complicated.'

'By magic? By the weird connection you all feel? None of it matters. Operation Nova has been handed over to another team and evidence is missing. That alone is enough to send you all away to a prison.’

‘What should I do?’ Merlin's voice cut open the bubble of their heated conversation and poured in cool and viscous words. The three stood in the darkening tidal pool. 'Hide? Run? Go to prison?'

'I don't care,' she said. 'As long as you're gone and out of our lives. As long as you leave Arthur alone.’

 Merlin moved to Arthur's side. 'You're scared? Of me? Of what I’ll do to him?’

 Maclain shot him a dirty look. 'I'm terrified. You should be too, Arthur. He's a monster. Walking death.'

 He'd had enough. Morgana, now Maclain. Always insulting Merlin, calling him a beast, a curse. Arthur went to shut the door.

 Maclain caught him in a vice-like embrace, her head hooked over his shoulder. 'Please, you're not safe with him. Everything’s falling apart.’

 He forced her off limb by limb. 'Then I'll fall too.'

'Arthur, please.'

'If staying with Merlin, whether he wants me to or not, means I'll fall? Lose my job? I will. Doubt it will happen, but if it does I'll face it with him. He's a stubborn git, but he's my stubborn git,' Arthur said, any morning grogginess now thoroughly stomped out. He turned to look at the so-called stubborn git. ‘Keep your secrets, Merlin, but something bad is happening and I'm not leaving you alone.'

 Merlin stared at him, silent. His wounds looked worse in the direct light. After a minute of silence Arthur asked, 'What happened to you?'

'Long story,' Merlin said then pressed his lips together.

'Can't you heal?'

'Haven't tried for a while,' he muttered, keeping his eyes on Arthur as the gold erupted with sparks, whirled around the black pupils with an impossible wind before flaring into a full blown pool of burning metal. Arthur hadn't seen Merlin's magic this intimately before. He hadn't let him. In fairness he’d been unnerved by it. Not any more though. Arthur didn't budge as the translucent petals of amber magic settled over each injury, melting into Merlin's skin. The black eye faded, skin connected, dried blood flaked off and Merlin was flawless again. 'Better?'

 Arthur smiled. 'Beautiful.'

'You all have a death wish, you know that?' Maclain said, her skin taught with anger. Arthur sighed.

'Losing our jobs won't kill us,' he argued.

 She gave him a hard glare. 'Aredian will.'

Maclain walked off with a scowl.

 Arthur’s stomach growled. 'I'm starving, how about you?'

'I don't have any food,' Merlin said.

'Let's go out then,' he suggested, the need to keep the open dialogue between them badgering his thoughts. He hadn't had this for months. Merlin scratched the back of his head, Arthur noted the grey shirt, crumpled from sleep and folded up to his elbows. He didn't recognise it.

 Merlin caught him looking. 'I'm still wearing Lance's things. I'll go change.'

 Arthur smiled through his confusion. 'Must be a really long story.'

 

* * *

 

 Merlin watched Arthur bite into a slice of toast, the crunch softened by the avocado smeared over it. The sound's of Camelot's castles, Arthur's complaints about his sub-standard breakfasts, whispered in the air around him and Merlin looked back down to his bowl of granola, fruit compote, and Greek yogurt. The glass of iced latte had drops of condensation slowly running down its side.

'You'd really risk it all for me, wouldn't you?' he asked once Arthur finished chewing.

 The ex-king frowned at him, a crumb caught on his lip. 'Does that surprise you? You'd do the same for me.'

'No, but it annoys me,' he said, pushing some of the granola around with his spoon.

'I swear you're gonna drive me insane,' Arthur said with a huff. 'Merlin, London's frightened with these attacks. A hunter who's said he wants you dead has disappeared. You'll probably be fired for grievous bodily harm and misleading the Old Religion case. You need me now more than ever before. It’s my duty, if nothing else, but it’s still so much more than that. The fact you and Mordred have something again doesn’t change a thing. Did you think dumping me, moving out, would change how I feel?'

‘I think I hoped it would,’ Merlin said, looking up to the wild roses in the glass bottle sat between them, then to Arthur. The tinkling sound of dishes and conversation swept around and between them. It acted as a film, to keep either of them from flinching at the sharpness of their situation. It softened the edges and made it bearable. ’I killed Morgause. Almost did the same to Cenred. I let you suffer. You should blame me. You should hate me. Magic, Aredian, Morgana's hatred, Mordred. You’ll never be safe with me, can’t you see that? You matter to me, Arthur, so I need you to hate me. Please.’

'And what about what I want?' Arthur's question came out blunt like armour beaten to within an inch of its metallic life. Merlin could see the pure light of the man's colours dance in the air and drift lazily around his head. It looked like a halo. A crown. 'Or do my feelings count for nothing?'

'Of course they count, but you don't understand.'

'I will,' Arthur said, pausing to let it sink into Merlin's thoughts. He would, would he? Arthur forked one of the cherry tomatoes in his plate and hid it from Merlin with a mobile wall of lips and skin. He could imagine Arthur split the red skin with his teeth, see the sweetness burst into his mouth, and took a bite of his own sweet mixture. 'I'm smarter than you give me credit for, you idiot. I'm not a clotpole all the time.'

 Merlin hid his smile with his chewing, and he took another bite to excuse his silence.

'When Mordred kissed you,' Arthur continued, spearing one of the mushroom slices and bringing it to his mouth. 'He was acting, wasn't he?'

‘Why do you think so?’

'It's that or you've really dived off cliff Sanity,' he said, and a dry chill brushed Merlin’s skin. 'He's no longer enchanted, but Morgana thinks he is.'

 Merlin watched Arthur take another cherry tomato into his mouth. 'Yes. He was acting.’

'Whatever you’ve been doing has something to do with your bruised face and wearing Lance's clothes, doesn’t it?’

'Right again,' Merlin said, smiling as he took another spoonful of his yogurt. It was a fruity bite.

'Anything I missed?'

 Arthur was digging for information. Merlin didn’t hesitate when he answered, 'The bombs were planted by Old Religion.'

'Morgana?'

'Not her. A different branch. A lot less friendly,' he said before taking his first sip of the latte, drinking the heart shaped with chocolate sauce atop the cream. The glass clinked when he put it back onto the mint blue saucer. He wanted Arthur to know. 'And I kissed Mordred yesterday. He'd just got blown up.'

 Arthur choked on a mouthful of poached egg. 'Great.'

'Arthur,' Merlin breathed. 'My head, it's been feeling foggy for months. Heavy. It's like this thing, this shadow inside me. It's angry and it's been growing stronger each day. I feel stronger with it. It's what I felt when I was shot. It protects me, but other times I do things I know are wrong but I don't care. It doesn't care. I don't care about right, wrong, just about what I want. What makes me feel good. I . . . Since February, it's been growing. Overpowering.'

 Arthur left his food untouched, all attention on Merlin. 'It's not a spell, is it?'

'No. No, it's me. Part of me. I don't want it to go either,' he said, grateful he could see Arthur's light again. See how it didn't dim at what Merlin was telling him. 'Magic sucks.'

'I wish I could understand it. Help you.'

 Help him? He couldn’t let that happen. 'I know you do.'

'Guess that's where Mordred has me beat,' Arthur said before taking a large bite of spinach, mushroom, and egg all shoved onto the one fork.

'Don't say that,' Merlin told him. 'There's more to this than that.'

 Arthur nodded. 'I know.'

 _Merlin._ Mordred's voice was loud in his head, demanding his attention.  _Nimueh's recasting her enchantments._

'Merlin?' Arthur said, but he couldn't listen to him. He used his returned magic to strengthen the tether binding him to Mordred and listened.

_I need to get evidence for the Met. Now's my best chance._

Merlin felt their connection, felt the difference. It wasn't as rich, as complete as it had been when they first undid Nimueh's magic. It wasn't right.

Reaching out Merlin spoke to him in turn. _She said they'd kill you if you ever went back._

It was a second before Mordred responded. _Need to make sure they don't notice me, don't I?_

Merlin let the interior of the Wildflower cafe fade away. _Why are you telling me? In case you don't come back?_

_You need to have more optimism, Merlin._

_Let me help._

_Never. You have your life to sort out. I'll handle this. Wanted you to know is all._

Their line of communication was cut and the scent of the freshly baked food, the bouquets of flowers, coffee, all came back to him. Arthur had fixed him with a look of great concern.

'What is it, Merlin?'

'Mordred,' he said, having another several spoonfuls of the sweet and crunchy yogurt. 'I'm suspended?'

'Yeah,' Arthur replied, gaze moving from his food, up to Merlin, then past him to the window behind him. 'They'll arrest you if they get the chance.’

'Are they looking for me?’

'The bombs were a distraction, but they'll be out in force today,' he said, taking his last mouthful. Merlin's conversation with Mordred must have taken longer than he thought. 'Pretty sure they are anyway.'

'How can you be?'

 Arthur nodded to the window. 'I can see them down the street.'

'Seriously?' Merlin said and twisted around, gripping the back of the chipped yellow chair for support. Uniforms were walking down the opposite pavement, a police car passing them and heading toward his street. 'Shit.'

When he turned back Arthur was grinning like he’d heard a brilliant joke.

‘You're smiling?’

'I am. It's just so ridiculous,' he explained.

'Guess I should turn myself in,' Merlin mused, drinking more of the creamy cool latte.

 Arthur gave him an alarmed stare. 'What? Why?'

'I'm guilty,' he said after swallowing.

'There are extenuating circumstances,' Arthur said, lowering his voice when another patron gave them a glare. 'Merlin, this is serious.'

'Makes turning myself in even more important.'

'What about Aredian? Old Religion? Morgana's dream? The only other people with magic are Morgana and Mordred, and neither are as strong as you. We need you,' Arthur argued, the shocked expression softening to one of sincerity. 'You matter more than you think you do.'

 Merlin was certain. The colours pooling around Arthur definitely formed a crown on his head. Faint, but it still glimmered. He finished his latte in a few gulps, ignoring the look Arthur’s glare, wanting some confirmation that his dissuasion had worked.

 Arthur hailed the waitress, and Merlin turned to see a congregation of officers. 'Walking down the street will be impossible if they set up a road block.’

 The girl took their crockery, balancing it all in her arms as if it were a mystical performance at a circus. Her eyes seemed to linger on Merlin before she left.

 He'd been in the news too often. 'Time to go.'

 They stepped onto the pavement, passing baskets of flowers set out and keeping their pace brisk. A bus drove towards them down the street, the stop only a few yards away.

'You can't hand yourself in,' Arthur urged him as they crossed the road, the uniforms ahead oblivious. 'It'll mean more attention from the press and if you need to use magic with Aredian-'

'Very bad exposure, mass panic and or disbelief,' Merlin cut in.

They had reached the double decker when Arthur turned to face him properly. 'You can't, Merlin.'

'Fine.'

'Good,' Arthur said and nodded, looking back around in time to see the officers spot him and start running. Merlin Vanished as people debarked from the bus.

 _You have your life to sort out._ He tailored his trajectory to have him step back into solid matter in Cenred's hospital room. He'd told someone, that someone had gotten the press involved. Aredian was the likeliest, but he had to know for sure. The door's windows revealed the back of a generic guard, and the yells and chatter beyond the sentry suggested reporters wanted in.  
Merlin rounded on the bed, keeping his breaths steady when he saw Cenred's figure. The Ambrosia was only a flash away in his mind. Months were nothing compared to centuries. The Ambrosia, a flash away. The attack on Camelot he'd tried to wage? It was like hearing the crackle of an old role of film projected onto the backs of his eyelids each time he blinked.

'Did you tell Aredian? Who was it?' Merlin asked, keeping his distance. No answer, no argument. He stepped closer and wore down the edge to his tone. 'Tell me who it was. I won't attack you, not again, I swear. Cenred?'

No answer or argument, and no breathing. Merlin moved forward, and the man's body remained motionless. He couldn't see the colours when last they'd seen each other, so his lack of any hadn't factored in. The hideous touch of nothingness sparked the sluggish cold of fear again. The void. Leaning closer the deep slice into the side of his throat went on to reveal a large stain of blood which had soaked into the mattress. His body still emanated heat. Cold horror blew over Merlin's skin. Aredian.

 The door opened and a nurse walked in. She jumped at the sight of him and turned to call the guard in. He Vanished.

 

* * *

 

 Mordred kept the bonds of his spell wound tightly around his body. Old Religion's defences did their best to break them, to reveal him, but his powers were greater, the enchantment more complicated. The shadows were darker with the day drawing to its end, and they helped his concealment spell completely hide his presence from all onlookers. Thankfully most members were hallucinating and experiencing other forms of drug induced states, or back at their varying homes. Nimueh was still re-casting her charms. His wounds had taken several minutes to heal once he'd been able to use magic again. Almost a day for the concealment charm.

 He kept his pace fast, jumping away from anyone who'd have walked into him. Edwin's workroom was another level up, but Vanishing could risk losing the concealment so he climbed stairs and crept through corridors until he reached the familiar hallway. A few seconds later he came to the doorway and looked in. The self-proclaimed 'doctor' was nowhere to be seen.

 Mordred slipped in to the room, pulling as many shadows to his side as possible. Any passersby would see a dark room only. He started the search, letting his magic guide him. Powders, herbs, animal bones, they filled jars and tubes and boxes. The explosive's powder shone red when he opened the crate's lid. It resonated with the explosion he'd been hit with yesterday. He filled two evidence bags with the clay-coloured explosive and took several pictures, using magic to give the images light within his phone. He sent them to Aglain, then the Commissioner, and finally Gaius.

'You never did follow the rules.'

 Mordred froze. _Shit._ He pocketed the samples and his mobile, turning to face the scarred warlock. The concealment enchantment still held, but the opened crates gave him away. He tried to Vanish, but a terrible weight rammed into his chest. Perhaps Old Religion's defences weren't as futile as he'd supposed.

'Don't bother,' Edwin said, mimicking Mordred's words to the kids he'd faced at the tracks. He ran. The scarred warlock moved out of his way, throwing a handful of powder into his face. Mordred coughed, and his eyes stung, but he still made it out of Old Religion's boundaries before he could be stopped. The moment he crossed the threshold he felt their magic lift and he Vanished, landing ten yards away from Aglain's car which waited outside the Shelton. The streets were quieter, the air gripped by a chill which mocked Mordred's thin t-shirt. He started for the car when dizziness spun his head around and he stumbled to his knees, breaths laboured. Missing. A part of him was missing. During the jump?

'Mordred!'

 Aglain, who'd been smoking by a tree next to his car, jogged over and helped him to the passenger side.

'I'm okay,' Mordred said, but the world still swam around him. He was led into the car and sat down. The door slammed shut and then Aglain climbed into the driver's seat, handing him a bottle of water from the glove compartment.

'I didn't see you, if I had I'd have helped sooner,' his supervisor assured him, hand on his shoulder as he gulped down a few mouthfuls of the water. It helped. He hoped it did anyway. Things seemed to wobble slightly, but other than that the world was stable again. Edwin and his fucking powders.

'I got it,' Mordred said and handed him one of the evidence bags.

'Saw the photos. Congratulations, Mordred,' Aglain said as he took it. The officer had a remarkable quality. His assurances were one of the few Mordred ever felt assured by. Perhaps it was because Aglain gave him hope that he was doing good. That he could be good. That was it. Aglain gave him hope. 'You just gained a small part in history.'

 Mordred chuckled at that, the powder's delayed effects having worn off. 'It's really not that great an achievement.'

 Aglain patted him on the back and then started ringing up all the relevant players in their investigation. Once he'd finished updating his own superior he hung up and gave Mordred a look of respect. 'We'll get this analysed and compared to the residue found at the crime scenes. Think we'll have a match? How about you go grab your things from the hotel? Your two weeks of exemplary policing are up.'

'It's over?' Mordred said, double checking with a touch of smile.

 Aglain shared a smile of his own. 'It's over.'

 

 

 Mordred stuffed the last ball of clothing into the duffel bag and charged down to the hotel's reception.

 The woman leaned over an open magazine, jaw moving up and down as she extracted flavour from the gum. He put the key on the counter and slid it over to her, the slight scratching it made grabbing her attention.

 She reached out and took it, bored eyes looking at him. 'Enjoyed your stay?'

'It was unforgettable,' he answered with a smile. She imitated it, closed lipped and fake, before she hooked the key up and dropped her head down to the articles and pictures splashed onto glossy pages.

 Mordred left the Shelton with relief, stepping into the night to see Aglain sat on the car's bonnet, waiting for him. He headed over.

 The light tore through the car's frame and heat quaked through the air.

 Mordred threw himself to the ground as the fire fanned out, balling up and injecting a metallic screech in the wind. The side mirror shattered on it's landing a foot away from his head. He got up onto shaking legs, smoke and heat folding him into a panicked stupor. Black and grey clouds were fed by a fire which crackled and hissed in warning. Its dark song beckoned the heavy sky to rest what seemed only two metres above his head. He stared wildly through the smog, the malicious veil, to see smoke strained out by the unnaturally contorted carcass of the car. Its bonnet was blown clean.


	13. Beating Hearts

  A wet cough, and he saw the burning body trying to crawl a few yards from the car. He ran to Aglain and dropped to his knees. Yanking off his supervisor's jacket he patted out any flicker or glow of fire. He rolled him over. Tears blurred his vision slightly, obscuring the horrible sight. Hauling the man into his arms he felt the stickiness of blood, the sharp poke of broken bone through the soft fabric of the shirt.

 Mordred pulled him close, hand squeezing the limp arm. 'Stay with me, Aglain. Stay with me.'

 The magic inside him refused to move, refused to help. He tried again and again and again, but he couldn't heal the wounds. Couldn't stop the bleeding. Couldn’t make the sweet acrid smell go away. A horrible noise cut through Aglain's ripped mouth. Mordred bent down closer to hear, eyesight clearing when the tears dripped onto the burned chest.

'An ambulance is coming,' he told him and smiled for his supervisor. Sirens rose and dropped in pitch like waves beyond cliffs, growing louder. Hope. 'Help is coming, okay? Stay with me.'

'Mordred,' Aglain said, wet and garbled. It was inhuman. Choked. Dark skin had become leathery, charred and bloody. 'You can stop them. You can. You can stop them.'

'I will,' he said, nodding and tightening his hold. One cupped hand supported his head, fingers pressing into the warm goo of exposed flesh, into the heat of the burns.

'Stop them, Mordred,' Aglain said with that voice. It didn't belong to him.

'I'll stop them, but you need to stay with me, okay? Aglain?' Mordred said, arms hurting with the strain of holding the man's body. He stared into the ruined face. Waited for more words. 'Aglain?'

 Pressure on his shoulder forced his attention. A girl told him to put him down. The flashing lights of emergency services filled the darkness with their cold pledge to protect and save. Fire fighters were drowning the car, the fire. Mordred rested Aglain on the road and she pulled him away. Strangers prodded at him, shone lights in his eyes, handed him something to clean the red off his hands. They asked if there was anyone to call. He shook his head and gave them his name before taking his bag. Mordred pushed past the barrier they'd set up, passed the car which was now a twisted heap of blackened metal.

 He went home.

 Morgana was on the sofa. He passed her and went to his small bedroom, threw the bag down by the wardrobe. Mordred sank to the ground and rested his back against the bed frame, forearms on his knees.

 She came in, turned the light on and kneeled down next to him.

'I'm tired of lies,' she told him.

'Liar,' he said, staring at ash and stains rubbed into his skin. 'You just don't like it when you’re the one being lied to.’

 She didn’t move. ‘Your magic, it's impressive. I suspected, but now your defences are down, aren't they? When did you break my spell?’

'I don't need this right now, Morgana.'

She lifted his chin to face her and leaned in. 'I care about you. Spell or not.'

'I wish I could say the same,' he said, eyes stinging.

 Morgana gave him a sad smile. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.'

'Seriously, can we have this heartwarming chat another time?'

'I'm happy you're back,' she said and left, closing his door. He picked up the glass on his desk, watched as the water wobbled, then downed it all. He was home. He felt hollow. A part of him was missing.

 

* * *

 

 Arthur ran his hands over his face. It was all crumbling and his ankles were getting nipped at by an unseen creature. A danger none of them could catch.

'It wasn't him. He wouldn't do that,' Gwaine insisted, pacing back and forth between the sofa and armchairs. Arthur looked to Percy, Elyan, every familiar face there. Everyone was there.

'I agree,' Lance said, supportive hand resting on Gwen's shoulder.

 Leon scoffed. 'Of course he didn't do it. He's Merlin for god's sakes.'

'It's irrelevant now,' Arthur said, drawing confused stares. He sighed, leaning back in the chair. 'The press are everywhere, making a search for Aredian damn near impossible. They make rooting out this new branch of Old Religion impossible. Our hands are tied.'

 Elyan leapt up. 'Merlin-'

'Has disappeared again,' Arthur interjected. 'Him and his bloody independence.'

'Merlin,' Lance repeated and everyone seemed to look past Arthur, Gwaine rushing out of sight. When Arthur turned around he saw him, eyes sunken in and skin shining with a feverish sweat. They stared at each other, a heartbeat passed, and then Arthur saw a dirtied golden light cross through Merlin’s eyes before he dropped. Gwaine stopped his fall. Arthur helped carry him over to the sofa, the room hushed with confusion.

 Percy helped position a pillow under his head. 'Why didn't we hear him?'

'He does this teleporting thing,' Arthur said, clenching his jaw when his fingers touched Merlin's hand. Colder than stone. Lance was already checking his pulse, opening his eyelids to show their whites.

'His vitals are fine. The faint must have been caused by magic,' Lance said. 'He'll be out for a while.'

'I'll wait for him to wake up,' Arthur said. 'Merlin's the key to fixing this mess.'

 Gwaine perched on the wooden chair opposite. 'Not as if I'm going anywhere.'

'Elyan and I will have some chats with our friends at the Met. See if we can't pull a few favours to find Aredian,' Percy told them and nodded to Gwen's brother who followed him out.

 Arthur looked to Gwen and Lance. 'You two go.'

'We can stay for a while longer,' Gwen assured him.

'I'd like to keep an eye on him,' Lance agreed. 'At least for the next hour.'

 They waited. An hour passed. Lance made a round of tea, Arthur requesting coffee. The doctor had accepted magic without much question, and somehow eased the whole situation with his calm presence. He smiled at them as they spoke in low voices. Another hour, they left, Lance promising that Merlin would be fine.

 Leon ordered take out and Gwaine kept staring at him.

 When the delivery man arrived Leon went to answer the door and pay. Arthur narrowed his eyes at the Irishman. 'What is it, Gwaine?'

'We've probably lost our jobs,' he said, ankle hooked up on the opposite knee as he held his second mug of tea.

'Probably.'

'A murderer who directly threatened Merlin is missing and planning who knows what.'

'There's something else.'

'Mordred was acting as an obsessed, enchanted creep.'

'You keep stating what we already know,' Arthur said.

'Well, that's it. Anybody would act a bit off in this situation,' Gwaine defended, helping set down the boxes from 'Spice Guru'.

 Arthur's mouth watered at the scent of various herbs, meats. 'You wouldn't.'

 Gwaine eyed him, then Leon who settled down on the remaining free chair, a serving of Tandoori in hand. 'Have you ever thought about how we all just sort of click?' As if we've known each other for decades rather than a few years?'

 Arthur nodded, grabbing a box an digging in. 'I have.'

'Me too,' Leon said through a mouthful of duck.

'You don't think it's a bit strange?' Gwaine went on, putting down his tea and stealing a bit of Leon's food and getting a scowl in return.

'What are you getting at?' Arthur asked as he felt the light burn of the curry coating his tongue. The cold body behind him shifted. His eyes dropped away from their lock on Gwaine. 'Merlin?'

 His eyebrows, which had been resting peacefully, pushed together as he woke up. Arthur shifted to the edge of the sofa, giving him more room as he sat up and took in his surroundings.

'You need to stop passing out, mate,' Gwaine chirped, grinning before taking a bite of his own claimed box of Indian.

 Merlin smiled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 'As if I can help it.'

'Why did you faint?' Leon asked.

'Something with Mordred. Something's wrong,' he replied, still unusually pale, and that was saying something. The bitterness whenever Arthur heard Mordred's name had eased in his attempt to understand what was happening. To understand Merlin. It was hard not to hate the bastard, Mordred. Understanding was hard too, but he was going to do it anyway.

'Isn't there always?' Gwaine gave a melodramatic sigh.

 Arthur passed Merlin one of the boxes and a fork. 'I thought the magic was growing stronger. Protecting you.’

'It doesn't work like that.' Merlin opened the cardboard flaps and took a small bite. 'How long was I out?'

'Three hours,' Gwaine answered.

 Arthur put down his meal and stood up. 'Want something to drink?'

'Water,' Merlin replied with a soft smile. He left to the kitchen, watching as Gwaine moved over to the sofa to sit next to Merlin. From the kitchen's island he could see them as he filled a tall glass with cold tap water. Could see Gwaine asking him questions, Merlin shaking his head or nodding in response. He seemed distracted, barely touching the food as he stared at the oriental rug laying at his feet.

 There was a knock at the door.

 Arthur brought Merlin the water, the conversation with Gwaine cutting short when he approached. 'I'll get it.'  
He left the three of them waiting as he went to open the door. An older man stood on the other side, a well-fit suit and hard line for a mouth.

'I need to speak with DC Gwaine Lot, and you too DS Pendragon. I’m Chief Inspector Bayard. Apologies for the late hour, and the unorthodox house call, but I assured the Commissioner I would give this case my full attention.'

 Arthur studied the warrant card the so-called Bayard showed him. 'Now really isn't the best time.'

'When is?'

 He kept the door closed enough to conceal the others, but Gwaine nudged him out of the way. 'Bayard! Nice to see you again. Still doing the Met's grunt work I see.'

 Arthur now shared a small gap with Gwaine, eyes darting back to Leon and Merlin then to the inspector. His beard was neatly trimmed, threaded with grey.

 Bayard tucked his warrant card away. 'You won't be smiling for much longer, Gwaine. Not this time.'

'And why is that?'

 The challenge seemed to light something in the man's grey eyes. 'I don't know what you and the other officers in your team have been up to, and I don't care for motives. I do care that you've made a mess of the Metropolitan and if it were my decision? I'd have you locked away for dangerous misconduct and incompetence. Wasting the tax payer's money.'

'Here I thought we were friends,' Gwaine remarked with mock offence.

 Arthur elbowed him. 'My team are the finest detective you'll ever meet, including DC Gwaine. We've had the bad luck to get seated with cases out of anyone's depth, including yours, and we're punished for trying to solve them.'

'Is that so?'

'It is,' Arthur said. 'Now, do you want statements on Thornberry's murder, or Old Religion?'

'We seem to be on different pages, DS Pendragon. I'm investigating DS Merlin Emrys, not Old Religion or the murder of Mr Thornberry.' Arthur's heart thumped heavily. 'I'm working closely with the home secretary. I'm afraid this is quite out of your control.'

 Arthur swallowed. Gwaine tensed up next to him. 'What are the charges?'

'Perverting the course of justice, both within the Old Religion case and Operation Nova. More notably for the murder of Cenred Mercid,' Bayard replied. He had the expression of a man who rarely faced failure. 'Can I come in? This isn't a discussion one should have through a doorway.'

'If you insist,' Gwaine said, shifting out of the way and dragging Arthur with him. He was about to yell 'stop', or shove the inspector back into the hallway, before he saw. Merlin and Leon were gone. Bayard walked forward to the sofa where the man had been laying only minutes ago.

'Shall I explain the situation to you boys?' he asked as he sat, without invitation, the word 'boys' snipping at Arthur's already worn nerves. They sat down and let him explain the situation. Half an hour later he was gone, Arthur on the brink of breaking something, Gwaine unsettling quiet, and Leon emerging from his hiding place in Gwaine's bedroom.

'Merlin did his teleporting thing,' he explained. A pat on Arthur's shoulder and a nod to Gwaine and Leon was gone too.

'Arthur?'

He looked over to the Irishman. 'Gwaine.'

'I'm not seeing a happy end to this,' he said, swiping his hair out of his face.

 Arthur packed up the empty takeaway boxes. 'Then you're not looking hard enough.'

'We can't even jump ship. We are the ship,' Gwaine continued, taking up Merlin's still full carton. 'We can't not go down.'

'We can choose how we sink, can't we? Bayard's investigation is only just starting up,' he said, putting the boxes into the bin. 'We have time.'

 Gwaine emptied the leftover curry into a plastic box and shoved it into the fridge. 'To do what? Prove him wrong?'

'Yes,' Arthur snapped. He sighed, leaning against the marble counter and folding his arms.

 Gwaine stood opposite him. 'I love Merlin as much as the next guy, but what if really did kill Cenred?'

'He's not that stupid.'

'Point. Did put him in a coma, though.'

 Arthur felt the cold of the hard surface cut through his shirt. 'If we find the real killer, then we can prove Merlin's innocence.'

'What about the whole arresting the wrong people from Old Religion thing, founded on Morgana's false case? How can we prove him innocent of that?' Gwaine asked. He didn't ask with cruelty or with pessimism. He was being realistic. That made it worse. 'We don't have the time, Arthur. We'll have lost our jobs and be sat in disciplinary hearings before you can say magic.'

'I'm getting a headache.'

'Then again,' Gwaine started, a mischievous glint back in his eyes. 'There is Morgana.'

 Arthur groaned. 'Gwaine.'

'Sure, she's a bitch of a sister, half-sister, whatever, but right now she's our only hope. If you can get past the murder of your father and ruining our careers, it could work,' Gwaine said with a buzzing energy in his body.

'For months she did her very best to destroy Merlin, destroy us, and the whole case,' he reminded him, but he had the gnawing feeling that it could work. They were at the end of the rope, and his was how they'd swing to safety.

'Things are different now. Said it herself: Merlin's the only one who can kill Aredian. Or at least do something to seriously maim, hinder, injure. Something along those lines.'

 Arthur let out a long breath. 'Morgana it is then.'

 

* * *

 

 She felt her top sticking to her sweaty skin, the duvet kicked off the bed during the night. Morning light brightened her room. She listened to her breathing, trying to forget the dreams of fire.

 Sitting up, Morgana wiped the sweat from her forehead and grabbed clean clothes. She padded over to the bathroom, her magic sensing Merlin with Mordred in his bedroom as she passed. The water was already warm, someone having turned on the emersion heater earlier. Locking the bathroom door she peeled the soaked pyjamas from her body and stepped under the shower head. The water covered her, hot and steaming. It stung at first, burned, but soon it soothed. Washed away the night. Minutes ran on as she ran her hands along her shoulders, arms, stomach, making sure the fire hadn’t actually touched her. A palmful of shampoo, afterwards conditioner, were massaged into her head and worked through the dark strands of her hair. Every wet slick, small bump in the skin, soft friction of hair, was catalogued by her fingertips. Cherished.

 When she was done she brushed her teeth, squeezed her dripping hair before brushing through it too, and dressed. Tying the wet hair into a bun she went to Mordred's door. It was silent, no movement or conversation. Tapping her knuckles against the white wood, she waited for a reply. When none came she opened the door. Mordred was lying on the bed, Merlin cross-legged on the floor with his back against the bedside table. His head had fallen back, mouth open as he breathed deeply with sleep.

'Rise and shine, little warlocks,' she said with a smile. Merlin jerked awake, Mordred groaning and opening reluctant eyes before they drooped shut again. 'You two are just darling.'

'What do you want?' Merlin asked, glaring.

'Still so bitter? You should be happy. With Mordred all fixed up, I thought you'd be all over each other,' she replied, maintaining the smile. Her heart ached. Morgause had groomed her. Messed with her head. She'd estranged her old friends, burned bridges and left herself alone. Even the connection she'd felt with Mordred had been under strain the last day or two. She looked to him, eyes shut and body limp as he slept on top of the bed covers. 'They need him to go in an make a statement about what happened last night. An officer called me late last night, but I didn't want to give him the message until the morning.'

'Is that all?'

'Hostility won't get us anywhere.'

'Where is it exactly you want to go?'

'Help me make breakfast,' she said, not bothering to smile. She was getting tired of her own lies now. 'You can make sure it's not poisoned.'

'I'm beyond hate, Morgana,' Merlin told her, getting to his feet. 'Now it's irritation. You're like this nuisance, bent on making my life miserable, no matter what time we live in. I know you enchanted Arthur and Maclain.'

'That was before. This is now. You can always kill me. Again,' she said, keeping just outside of the doorway. 'Will you help or not?'

 Merlin looked back to Mordred who was sleeping, ignorant of their conversation. Something felt off. She recalled the smell of smoke and metallic scent of blood all over him last night, but it had been more. A clear sight into his power and while she discovered it challenged her own, it wasn't healthy. It wasn't whole.

'How is he?' she asked Merlin. He looked at her with a hard expression and walked past her to the kitchen. Morgana followed, watched him search the fridge and pull out bacon and eggs. She fetched a frying pan and placed it onto the hob. Clicking the sunflower oil's cap open she dribbled a good amount into the centre, watching the golden liquid pool before it spread outwards. 'There's a bond between us, Merlin. Between Mordred and I. From the past life and this one.'

'A bond which nearly destroyed him a second time,' he said as he opened the bacon, shoving it and the carton of eggs next to the hob.

 Morgana watched as the oil started to to sizzle. 'I care about him.'

'You corrupt him.'

'Can't see past the heroics of it, can you?' she said, facing him. His eyes were dark, expression heavy. She could remember the clumsy and grinning-like-a-fool manservant. In part this new version of Merlin was her doing. 'There's more than just good and evil in this world, Merlin.'

 His eyes were out of focus, and behind their blue she saw embers of magic begin to glow. 'Sh.'

'What are you doing?' she asked, ignoring the burning smell of oil.

'Mordred,' he said, and the glow in his eyes disappeared. The scream sent nails cutting up through her skin. Merlin ran out of the kitchen.

 Morgana ran as well. Her breaths were short but she could taste the air, how thin and cold it was. At the doorway she watched Merlin move to the bed, then saw Mordred. His body was convulsing, eyes wide and searing gold. She swallowed the lump in her throat and directed all the magic she could towards him, to immobilise, to stop whatever was happening. His body still seized, limbs jerking and shaking. The veins in his arms and neck jumped with the violence of his beating heart, fingers clawed into the bedsheets.

'My magic isn't working,' Merlin told her as he went to grab Mordred's arms.

 She rushed forward and pulled him back, fought against his rejection and frantic eyes. 'No. Don't hold him down.'

 They dragged the side table out of the way and waited. The silence was punctuated by Morgana's sharp breaths, Merlin's attempts at spells, and Mordred's convulsions. One or two minutes later it all stopped. The air was too still.

 Morgana rolled him onto his side, checking his pulse. 'Mordred?' She stroked the curls out of his face. 'Can you hear my voice? It's Morgana.'

 His eyes barely opened, skin feverish. She looked to Merlin. His eyes were unfocused again, lost. He didn't say anything, just stood and stared. She turned back around. 'Mordred?'

 The hand she held moved. She supported him as he sat up, slowly, resting back against the bed's headboard. She let go of his hand. He seemed so tired. Ill.

'Why didn't my magic work?' Morgana asked. Merlin, Mordred, it didn't matter who answered.

'Has to be temporary,' Merlin said, his voice lacking its usual strength.

 Mordred's lips pressed together, and Morgana could see the glassy effect of tears in his eyes. Thick eyebrows were crushed together with his anger.

‘What is it?’ she asked, but his lips were soldered shut by the heat of whatever was inside. ‘Are you in pain? Is that what has to be temporary? The seizure, does it have something to do with last night?’

 Morgana felt Merlin's magic pulse behind her. 'I'll fix this. I'll finish it.'

 He went up to Mordred and she moved out of his way, containing her urge to force some kind of answer out of him. He kissed Mordred’s feverish forehead and whispered something into his ear before turning and Vanishing. Mordred stared at her from the bed, worn, sickly and incomplete. She felt it now without the distraction of Merlin’s power. Felt the absence. Felt the burn of tears.

'I'll go finish breakfast,' she told him and left, leaning against the hallway's wall once out of sight. She couldn't take in enough air. It always seemed to escape her. Mordred. Her Mordred. The only one she had left after Morgause. She'd always felt his magic, even the facade of it. Now? It was gone. A void. Where Mordred's magic had chimed in tune, beat in time, with hers, subconsciously or not, she was now alone. His magic was gone. It was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more weeks of work, but I'll make sure updates keep happening - you've waited long enough after all.  
> With the playlist, my imagination is weirdly connected to music and the emotions involved, so I really hope you do take advantage of what is at least my version of a strange mental soundtrack to the story :)


	14. Cracks

 Merlin looked around the concrete wall's corner. Police units, lights, tape, spectators. Old Religion's hiding place was overrun. They'd stolen Mordred’s magic in payback. Edwin Muirden had stolen his soul. Shaking the thoughts out of his head, Merlin noted everything he could. There could be no mistakes if he was going to fix it. End it.

 People were being loaded into vans, ambulances, and medical staff buzzed from one person to the next. He walked forward with his head low, passing one of Old Religion's people. Physically the drugs had destroyed the man, magically they'd done the same only worse. Much worse. In a cruel way they got what they wanted. Suppressed the magic by ruining their minds.

 Slipping through unnoticed he headed inside the block of flats and climbed the stairs two by two. A Uniform was heading down, distracted by the plastic evidence box she grappled with in her arms.

'What's going on?' he asked her, flashing his warrant card. There wasn't a flash of recognition across her face, in fact she gave him a warm smile. He mirrored it.

'Why are you here if you don't know?'

'Everyone's being redirected here. It's big, right?'

'Drugs bust and confiscation of explosives. This is the base of the people behind the attacks on Friday,' she explained, gesturing to the box she tried her best to carry with ease. 'I hear an undercover intelligence officer figured it all out. Would love to meet him, wouldn't you? He's a hero. At least I get to be on the team clearing all this out.'

 Merlin's smile tightened, the prick of horror at Mordred's state enough to crush any momentary distractions. He had to fix it. The magic which had joined his and given him strength was stripped away and he felt his own powers wane. 'Better not leave them waiting then.'

'Course not,' she said with an even wider grin before heading down the stairs. He pressed on to the floor where he'd find Edwin. A nuisance in his past life, and something even worse in this one. Through the stairwell's door Merlin stepped into the dying corridor, Edwin's workroom several doorways ahead.

'Merlin?'

 He stopped in view of Kilgharrah through the doorway, who had been studying one of the drug user's rooms.

 The faint trace of scales around his face seemed to darken and become more defined. 'You can't be here.'

'They took Mordred's magic,' Merlin said, the bite of irritation and fear in his words. He hadn't seen Kilgharrah in days, and the man, the ex-dragon, hadn't bothered with contacting him despite the rumours. Despite Merlin's career, life, hanging in the balance. He felt insulted. Alone.

'They did what? Why?'

'A power play?' he suggested, eyes flicking back to the doorway of Edwin's nest. He ignored Kilgharrah's motion for him to come into the room, to keep out of sight. 'We undid Nimueh's enchantments. By now she's probably recast them. I can't do it alone. I can't undo them without Mordred.'

'Look at me, Merlin,' Kilgharrah said, moving towards him. His eyes were still drawn to the workroom, where the powders and potions might hold Mordred's remedy. 'Look at me!'

Kilgharrah's order shook the air with magic, and Merlin faced him, Kilgharrah’s hands coming up to his face. They moved his head left, then right, up and down, his watery eyes examining him in silence.

 Merlin pushed his hands away and gave him a hard frown. 'What is it?'

'You've merged your powers.'

'I told you just now,' he said.

'You have no idea,' Kilgharrah breathed, the lines in his skin shuddering with anger, horror, each emotion rising into his features with mask-like exaggeration. Merlin wondered if he'd ever let his feelings show with such clarity. Ruadan's comments about his and Arthur fights floated in his thoughts as a mocking reminder. 'Magic isn't a toy, Merlin. It's dangerous.'

'Don't patronise me.'

'Mordred's magic isn't gone. If it were yours would be too,' he went on to explain, voice hushed but the attempt was hopeless at containing the controlled rage which rippled through his tone. 'It was foolish of you to combine your powers like that.'

 Merlin refused to fall into the scolded schoolboy dynamic and pushed on with the core issue. 'What does this mean for his powers? For mine?'

'You two are like opposing forces,' Kilgharrah said after a pause.

 Merlin scoffed. 'Always with the abstract remarks. Can't you just be straightforward for once? First Arthur and I are-'

'You and Mordred are each part of a whole. Mordred is the dark to your light, the light to your dark. If he's weak, so are you. If he dies, so do you, understand? Understand why it was reckless of you?'

'Yes, I understand.'

 Voices travelled to them from the opposite end of the hallway. Kilgharrah paused, head tilting to the side with recognition. 'Bayard.'

'Are Nimueh and Edwin in custody? Will they be able to reverse whatever they've done to Mordred? Will any of Edwin's powders help?'

'They weren't found, and without the caster of the spell any attempt to undo it is pointless. Intelligence is searching for them though,' he replied, having pulled the reluctant Merlin into the room. He tried to focus on the ex-dragon, DCI, not the stained and rotting mattresses, the empty and broken syringes scattered on the ground. The splashes of blood on the grey aged fabric. 'Mordred's information was quintessential to this whole operation, don't think his actions are lost on me.'

 Merlin eyed him. 'You knew he was working with them? A spy?'

'Of course I knew,' he said, carefully looking back out in the hallway. The voices grew closer. 'Go. Before they see you.'

 Merlin wasn't done. He needed more. He needed Edwin. He needed Mordred. The voices were drawing nearer though, and Bayard with them, a bloodhound who knew his scent. He had to run. Only a second in the hallway and someone called out, 'DS Emrys?'

 His feet carried him to the stairwell's door and then he barraged down the barren tower of winding stairs. Breaking out into the morning air he charged out of Old Religion's territory, officers chasing after him, shouting after him. The Vanishing hit him like a wall, his shattered bones and torn skin spurred through London irrespective of what stood in his way. He landed in a huffing pile on Arthur's bedroom floor. Catching his breath Merlin got to his feet, head throbbing and body aching. Vanishing had never left him in such a state, never been so painful. _If he's weak so are you._

‘Shit,’ he huffed, hand pressed against his queasy stomach. Once the ache dulled he walked over to the edge of the bed and nudged the foot poking out from under the covers. ’Get up.’

'What the bloody,' Arthur started, blinking awake and shuffling up onto his elbows. 'Merlin? I thought you gave your key back.'

 Arthur threw his legs over the side of the bed, stretched, and snatched up some clothes.

'Nothing you haven't seen before,' he reminded Merlin as he hid away his exposed skin with a shirt and trousers. 'Gwaine and I have an idea about how to handle your growing criminal record.'

 It took all his strength to keep focused, a strange nothingness which permeated his mind clawing back his thoughts. He shuddered to think of what Mordred was going through. 'Arthur, Old Religion have . . . . shut down Mordred's magic. I can't feel him anymore.'

'Feel him?'

'It's complicated,' he said, and Arthur's face fell. He paused, thinking of a way to explain it. 'You know that comfort you get from knowing a friend's in the same room? Their breath, warmth, presence, occasional comment? Well, it's like that in a way, only the room is the world. At the very least London.'

'Weird.'

'I know Nimueh's behind it, but she's disappeared,' Merlin continued, breathing a little easier after letting Arthur understand one aspect of his magic. It was weird. Incomprehensibly so. His agitated body needed movement, and he resolved to pace along the short stretch of the bedroom.

'Like Aredian?'

 The name sent a shiver down Merlin's spine. 'Edwin Muirden too.'

'Who?'

'Long story,' he huffed.

'Do we need to find them? We've had no luck with Aredian, but I'm willing to bet he killed Cenred,' Arthur said, stepping in front of Merlin and forcing him to stop, to calm down. 'About our idea to get you out of the law's firing line.'

 Merlin opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came. Arthur had a solution. He closed it again and noted the soft smile on the ex-king's lips.

'Convince Morgana to come clean.'

 A hollow laugh escaped him. 'She's beyond reason.'

'Mordred was the same, wasn't he? They've both changed,' Arthur reasoned.

 It was a fair point, but it grated against Merlin's nerves. Arthur didn't know what Morgana had done in the past, but then Merlin had had a great part in the broken witch she'd become. This lifetime's counterparts weren't the same, and Mordred was a case in point. So was he. Perhaps history didn't always repeat itself. Not their's. Merlin was sick of the fate, of the prophecy, which had plagued their pasts. He had to fight it, even if that meant turning to Morgana - who'd ruined a possible life with Mordred.

'Convince her for the rest of us, if not for yourself. We deserve as much. Our reputations are burning up right now too,' Arthur said into the silence Merlin left between them. 'You have more sway over her. Common ground.'

'Common ground?'

'Mordred.'

 There it was. A sad mist which clung to Arthur's eyes. Merlin hoped he mirrored the look. That Arthur could understand. He wouldn't without remembering though. Memories were his gift and curse. No wonder people suppressed their pasts. The memories weren't his to give to Arthur though, to weigh down the one person he wanted to keep safe and separate. 'I meant to keep away from you, after the break up. Guess we're stuck together no matter what. Even after everything that's happened.'

'I'm happy with that arrangement,' Arthur said, taking Merlin's hand. The touch was momentary. The rush of the wind in the forest beyond Camelot's walls, the cool breeze in Arthur's bedchamber, the playful insults and rich smells of the banquet hall.

 Arthur gasped and lurched his hand away. 'What did I just see?'

 Merlin stared at him in horror. He'd been remembering. Had Arthur seen what he had? A metallic ring cut through the pause and Merlin insisted Arthur answer it.

'Bayard?' Arthur repeated in response to the caller. Merlin turned away from him, breathing deeply. The air, it had changed. It was colder. Empty and scentless. Aredian had been here. He'd been in Arthur's bedroom. Like Cenred, he left it drained. Merlin’s blood moved lethargically, filled with heavy ice and fire. The hunter was stalking its prey, learning its weakness. It made him sick.

'It's not him. When will you people listen,' Arthur argued over the phone, running a hand through his dirty blonde hair. 'He was there? In the hospital room?'

 Arthur shot him a questioning look, and Merlin could see the doubt. It darkened the light in his face, and he loathed Aredian more for it. Five minutes passed, Merlin waiting to defend himself, to return the shine in the colours shrining Arthur. The colours that had been fading. Did Aredian's past presence drain so much from the air? Or was his connection to Mordred stealing away more of his own powers?

'They found another body like Thornberry's,' Arthur told him after hanging up. His eyes were fixed on the mobile, taking several seconds before he looked up at Merlin after throwing the phone onto the unmade bed. 'In one of the flats. A description Mordred gave of Edwin Muirden matched the body. They found a note too. He's the guy you were talking about, isn't he?'

 _You're a fiction in the modern world. Fire will free you, Merlin._ Cenred, Edwin. Himself. 'He's hunting me. Weakening me.'

'Not very subtle about it,' Arthur said, voice softened by what Merlin imagined were some confusing thoughts. The darkness of doubt grew, heavy and sharp, as Arthur directed it towards him. Any memory of a smile on Arthur's face had been buried deep, sealed in marble and left preserved in cold isolation. Merlin's stomach remained uncomfortably uneasy at the sight. 'You were in Cenred's room before they found him dead.'

'Mind games are a hobby of his, like all good self-obsessed witchfinders,' Merlin said, keeping his nerve as the pure light of Arthur dimmed into nothing. Mordred was weaker. So was he. 'He's messing with me. With you. I didn't kill Cenred.'

 Arthur nodded. 'I believe you.'

 He couldn't see the light or the shadows. Arthur was just Arthur. Lying, telling the truth, Merlin couldn't tell and the drained cold air brushed his skin, consoling him, mocking him. 'I hope you do.'

'Merlin, just now,' Arthur started, his eyebrows furrowed, 'what did I see? There was a castle, and then trees. You were there. What was it?'

 He looked into those blue eyes, earnest and free of any magical influence. This was Arthur to everyone else. Dimmer, but somehow brighter. He couldn't jeopardise his life, his happiness. 'I'll convince Morgana.'

'Wait, Merlin-'

 He left the room and Vanished to her flat in Islington.

 

* * *

 

 Strangers buzzed around, busy with their weekend. La Petite Auberge was comfortably full with hungry patrons. Merlin kept to the side. He watched. They left no trails, possessed no stain of their personalities. Like Arthur, they were nothing more or nothing less than what they were. With no insight into their lives Merlin found a smile pulling on his face, gently coaxing his lips into an expression of what bubbled in his chest. Warm, cold, thrilled, terrified.

 He cast his stare upwards, first the charmingly blue sky, then to the reddish brick of the building on his right. To the window beyond which Morgana and Mordred existed, trapped by a weight they all now carried. He had to convince her. Had to save him. Mordred and Arthur were his to protect.

 The Vanishing lurched him up through the air and left him standing in the kitchen. Mordred's back was facing him as he stirred the tea. The spoon clinked where he dropped it into the sink and he turned, Merlin lost in his new perspective of the man.

 He jumped when he saw Merlin, his dark eyes wide and hands jerking up as if to defend himself before he realised who it was. The mug cracked onto the wood, hot tea spilling out, moving languidly through the hazardous maze.

 Mordred didn't even glare at Merlin, just crouched down and started picking up the pieces. Merlin joined him, fingers wetted by the tea soaked porcelain he piled carefully in his palm.  
'Sorry,' he said as he lifted another jagged piece from the pool of tea.

'Don't worry about it. The whole no magic thing has made me a bit jumpy.'

 He couldn't stop studying Mordred. The hair which curled down over his forehead, wavy and filled with wild life. Heavy lids, slight shadows under his eyes. Fond fascination made every fibre of the jumper he wore seem softer, amusing. The heat which pressed against Merlin decorated Mordred with question. The dark fabric spotted with bronze speckles was out of place and disconcerting in the sunlight. 'A jumper?'

'I was cold.'

'It's the middle of July.'

 Mordred stood and dropped his collection of broken mug into the bin. 'I'm always some wounded pup of the pack to you, aren't I?

'Not always,' he said, Mordred's chuckle laced with bitterness. Whatever Merlin was feeling, was only an echo of the powers which suppressed Mordred's magic. That echo had left him on the verge of becoming hysterical with panic, a mad sort of excitement and hard terror. The source, the real thing, lived and breathed with Mordred. 'Morgana did destroy your morality for a few months, and you were beaten and chained to a radiator. Act or no act, Old Religion hurt you then and they've done it again. Emotionally, psychologically, you name it.'

'I never asked you,' Mordred started, his eyes staring at the wall just past where Merlin crouched. The sunlight lost its golden touch, left pale and hollow as clouds crossed the sky. 'When we removed Nimueh's enchantments, when you saw my past. When I saw yours.'

 Mordred's words came slowly, stopped and thickened by thought. Fear. Merlin got up and binned his own selection of porcelain pieces, mopping up the tea with some squares of kitchen roll. 'When we joined our magic?'

'And you saw what my life is. Was. Why Morgana could enchant me and make me become . . . that. What happened, with the foster homes and,' he paused, taking in a deep breath.'You honestly see me the same way?'

'No. I understand you now. Like Morgana even less,' Merlin said, moving forward to where Mordred leaned against the counter. He dropped the sopping brown bundle into the bin and cleaned his hands, inches from Mordred who watched him silently. Merlin turned the tap off. 'Edwin's dead.'

'You just can't keep away,' Morgana remarked, appearing in the doorway.

'Morgana,' Merlin acknowledged. He dried his hands and remained at Mordred's side, arms touching. The warmth, the fabric, but no magic. Brushing the sensations and the shock in Mordred's eyes to the side he trained his stare onto the witch, Arthur's words clear in his mind. 'You have to come clean. If we want to find Nimueh, we can't have the Yard out to get us alongside the Press. If you want Mordred to get his powers back, sort out Aredian, end all of this, you need to tell the truth. Confess.’

 Mordred ran a hand over his face, and Merlin could practically see the man reel in the strands of thoughts and facts, trying to make sense of it all.

 Morgana's raised brows pushed downwards. 'What's wrong, Mordred?'

'Besides the obvious, you mean? Edwin's dead apparently,’ he repeated with a bitter smile which split his face disturbingly. It left his eyes sombre. A smile which reflected just one of the cracks that threatened to break him. He turned to Merlin, stripped bare of the intoxicating magic, the past. His eyes hid nothing, their pure colours just as mesmerising as the storms he'd always seen in them. 'Who killed him? He was killed, wasn't he?'

 Merlin took in a deep breath and held it as a cold wave soaked through him, taking more of his strength away. 'Probably,' he answered after the sickening feeling had passed. 'I plan to find out.'

 Mordred mirrored how he felt in the unhealthy pale hue which had destroyed the natural glow of his skin. 'Good. Thank you.'

 He cleared his throat and turned back to Morgana who stood watching them silently. 'So, will you hand yourself in?'

'We need to be allies, remember,' Mordred added, putting more of his weight against the kitchen counter. Merlin felt the icy enchantment brush through his body, and stifled the urge to hug Mordred, to hurt Nimueh. Too bad Edwin Muirden was dead. Killing him would have made him feel less helpless. Useless.

'I'd go to prison,' she pointed out, but her voice was strong and relaxed, a fiery determination brightening her eyes.

 Mordred's face was tight, lips slightly pursed to control whatever threatened to show itself but he broke the mask to tell her, 'You never liked the police, and breaking out would be nothing to you.'

 Morgana watched him, and that determination softened, melting down into an empathetic pool like the tea. 'When?'

'Now,' Merlin said.

'Allies?' she checked with them both.

 Relief left him in a long breath and he managed a smile. 'Better than the alternative, don't you think?'

 When he looked to the side Mordred didn't seem to share his relief, or Morgana's determination and smile of hope. He seemed lost. The pure colours of his eyes were a blur, greens and blues all flooding into one another. Like the colours of the ocean in all climates had been spilled into him, circling around the dark pupils and fusing together to then crystallise. Caught in their movements and currents.

'I'll fix it,' Merlin assured him, hand lightly touching his arm. He felt like a stranger he'd known his whole life. The warmth that had surrounded him in the hotel room, that had infuriated him, saved him, that had almost destroyed him at Christmas. 'I will.'

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't be 100% sure yet, but there will probably end up being approx. 20 chapters (could be one more, one less, you get the gist) - just to give you an idea :)


	15. The Empty Fireplace

 Merlin Vanished, and for a moment after he had Mordred could still trace his features in the empty air. 

 He tensed his body to suppress the shivers, head swimming with heat one second then a painful cold the next. Shifting his stare to Morgana he asked, 'You'll really do it?'

'You could die if I don't. I could die,’ she said. 'Merlin's our best chance.'

'What you did, Morgana,' he started, looking down to his feet. Studying the angles the bones of his feet created in the socks. The weight which had bored down onto his chest for the last sixth months was gone, taken with his magic. He could be straight with her. Free. He curled his right toes then stretched them out again, concentrating on the stretch and restriction of the cotton. 'Whatever past life we shared in Camelot, it means nothing after that.'

‘People with magic are always persecuted, Mordred. I was just trying to do what I thought was right. Keep Merlin out of the way, even if that meant using you. I was wrong,' she explained. Mordred clenched his teeth and gripped the edge of the counter a little tighter. He was drained, scarred by what she'd done, and hating her was easier. Even if that hatred included himself. 'I'm sorry for what I did to you and Merlin.'

'People always suffer, but that always comes to an end. If you had patience,' he said and ran an unsteady hand through his hair. 'If you hadn't been so desperate to please Morgause, to avenge whatever wrongs were done to you,' he trailed off, the words beyond him. Hypotheticals stung. What if? What could have been? It was a dark alleyway. Almost indefinitely ended with a mugging, possibly a stabbing or two. He couldn't handle it. Didn't want to. 

 She pressed her lips together, crossed her arms. 'And has yours come to an end?'

 The kitchen's wall clock ticked. She watched him with gentle intrigue and a touch of what could have been mourning. 

'Merlin's forgiven me,’ he said.

'But you can't forgive me?'

'I can't,' he said, took a deep breath and met her stare. His thoughts were hazy and it took effort to strain them through into something tangible. Something comprehendible. 'Don't know if I ever can.'

 The ticking was louder. Persistent to fill their silence. _Tick. Tick. Tick._ The familiar tone of his mobile chimed out and he left to answer it, Morgana staying silent in the kitchen.

 He picked it up on its last buzz. 'Hello?'

'Mordred? It's DCS Agravaine. You need to come in and make a statement on the incident involving the death of Intelligence officer Aglain. Sorry about all this.'

'I understand,' he said and for an instant felt the warm blood, the life, leaving Aglain's body. 'I'll come in right away.'

'I'm sorry for what you went through, Mordred,' Agravaine told him again. He ended the call. Everyone kept apologising. He didn't want any of it.  Mordred pushed the mobile into his jeans pocket before heading back to find Morgana. She was making a cup of tea.

'I have to go.' 

'It's a Sunday. How can they expect you to go in?'

'A man’s dead, Morgana,' he said, concentrating on the light fabric of her blouse, the soft folds, shadows and filtered peachy-red light. 'If you get the time finding Nimueh would help.'

 While her lips were downturned, weighted by his refusal to forgive her, she nodded her consent. He left, descending the staircase wedged between one set of flats and the other.  Outside the noon sun was hidden and rubbish bags were piled up around the base of a black street lamp. He headed left, Angel underground station a five minute walk away.

 He melted into the company of strangers with the occasional whistling draft cooling him as it passed through the carriage's door seal. Some listened to music, some stared at nothing in thought, others made cursory glances at the shoes of their tube travelling companions. Mordred did his best to stay awake. To stay alert. To ignore the suffocating sense of isolation and weakness which had woven itself into every sinew.

 Changing at Moorgate, he waited through another twenty minutes of heat before rising into the chilled crisp air of St James's Park and made a bee-line for Scotland Yard. Press clogged the street, enough to give anyone a heart attack, and a smart looking man beckoned him over when he turned into sight.

'Man of the hour!' the man bellowed, snatching him to his side accompanied by camera flashes. Mordred noted who was there, who was recording, who tried to interview him. Anything to keep his mind occupied. He felt unsteady, as if he balanced on muscle and tendons only with no support from bones.

'How do we know you're not a double agent? That you didn’t kill officer Aglain?'

'What about your history with Merlin Emrys? A detective-turned-killer?'

'Alright, alright, that's enough,' the man said, patting him on the chest like an old friend. ‘DC Leir helped bring terrorists to justice, putting his own life on the line, alright?'

'So, what did happen?'

'Was Aglain the final victim of Old Religion?'

'Does this prove beyond a doubt that DS Emrys' allegations earlier this year were false?'

 Mordred's chest constricted, queasiness twisting at his innards. It played with them, knotting and throwing and shifting around like the pieces of a child’s game.’'Excuse me.'

 He pushed through the man's calls for him to come back and the net of questions thrown out to try and reel him back. Safely inside an officer rounded on him. He recognised her. That flat brown hair pulled into a tight bun, the features so everyday and so forgettable. Memorable in that way at least. She'd originally spoken with him about the intelligence operation, at the very beginning. Before he'd fucked it all up.

'Where have you been? What happened with Aglain?'

'His car blew up. He died,' he said, surprised at the bluntness of his own words. The woman's face was a mixture of shock and horror, the previous concern now triple-fold. 'Sorry, I . . . I'm tired.'

'The Commissioner wants to see you,' she said, escorting him to the lift. Her attempts at small talk failed utterly, Mordred too immersed in how he was beginning to forget what magic even felt like.

 The lift came to a halt, and he stepped out, dazed, following her. She left him at the Commissioner's door. Sir Bernard Hewitt-Harding. A mouthful of a name. He knocked. Entered. They shook hands. Sat down.  

'Mordred Leir,' the old man said as if it were a remark, a notable point to make. That was his name. One half carried with him for centuries now. The other a reminder of this life. The modern life. The one which had taken away his soul, if it even existed. Taken away any chance with Merlin and left him close to breaking.

'Sir.'

'So young and so accomplished. Especially given your troubled past,' the Commissioner went on, bland watery eyes fixed on him. 'Mordred, I've made the decision to present you with a commendation.'

'Why?'

'You deserve one. This is a great mess and terribly complicated but no one can deny it. You've done a great service to London.'

'I thought I was here to make a statement.'

'You are, but _I_ wouldn't be here on a Sunday afternoon if there wasn't a bit more going on, now would I?' he said with a smile, the sagging skin around his mouth forced up into their well-worn creases. 'You should look forward to a prosperous career with the Metropolitan police. Now, a media liaison is going to help you prepare for an interview on BBC news tomorrow night.'

 Mordred stared at the Commissioner. 'What?'

'Don't look so scared, Mordred,' he said with a gruff laugh. 'You must be used to the press at this point. Granted you haven't had a lot of the good kind. The tides are turning, Mordred. You should feel proud. Aglain's murder is a tragedy, but he died in the process of bringing these Old Religion monsters to justice, once and for all.'

 'Nimueh wasn't found,' Mordred reminded him, hating how the old man's hair had been overridden by the grey of a failing body. 'She's the instigator, the one leading the whole thing. It's worthless without having caught her.'

 'We've launched a search, and that's all we can do,' the Commissioner said as he stood. Mordred followed suit, accepted another handshake, and was ushered towards the door. 'We need some positive press and you, Mordred, are our saving grace. The Met's golden boy they're calling you.'

The Commissioner opened the door for him, and Mordred was ushered into the colder corridor. 'I'm not a boy.'

 

* * *

 

 Merlin’s shoulder thumped against the wall when he reappeared just outside Old Religion's boundaries. His body ached from the Vanishing. The magic no longer thrummed warmly with his blood, instead it was heavy, cold, worn. 

 He pressed on. Keeping to the side and out of sight Merlin tracked down the room which had housed Edwin's corpse. The police vans were gone, and Uniforms milled about with bored expressions. The building complex was large, but he had enough magic left to feel that emptiness call to him. A soft unsettling breeze intermingled with the still air, leading him to Edwin in silence.

 He ducked into one room then the next to keep from the impartial eyes of some passing officers. Merlin found it within minutes. Top floor, empty aside for rubbish and the heady scent which hung in the air like a perfume designed to coax him. To lull him closer. Grey light filled the barren corridor, unappealing but it pulled him forward. One door stood open directly ahead, flanked by the corridors walls, with white and blue police tape stretched across it in warning.

 He bent down beneath it and entered the rectangle. He took a sharp breath at the drop in temperature and crossed his arms, scanning the room left to right. A fireplace, abandoned and stripped of its flames. A window with mysterious grime splattered against its panes. Merlin took it all in with his human eyes. Breathed the stale air.

 The note glared at him. It hung angry and black where it had been singed into the wall. 

COME FIND ME, MERLIN.

 He walked up to the taunting message and traced the charred sharp edges of plaster bordering the letters. Black ash stained his fingertips, cool and chalky having forgotten the heat. Merlin shuddered as another wave of nausea crashed through his body. The burned words lurched towards him and his forehead hit the wall, hands attempting to steady himself. Pricks at the back of his neck tapped their way down his spine. They branched outwards until the numbing sensation, the white noise, coated his skin. He sank down to a crouch, one side of his body stung by the cold air and the other supported by the damaged wall. 

 Merlin couldn't feel anyone, anything. His muscles were sore. The white noise, the emptiness, made it worse.

 Footsteps. He ignored them and watched the smokey air spill out from his mouth and nose before sucking in another icy draught.

'Look at this. Searching for days and here you are at another murder scene with your name written on it. This time quite literally.'

 Merlin craned his neck to look at the large Inspector. Bayard. Aredian's threats and controlled words beat with his heart: _I hunt. I am your choice. Let me end it. Come find me._

'DS Merlin Emrys,' Bayard began, having crossed the room and latched a hand around his elbow. He pulled Merlin up to his feet and locked the metal cuffs around his wrists. The cold edge bit at his skin, the bones of his wrists. Would Aredian's jaws feel similar? Hard, icy, emotionless. Mocking. ‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Cenred Mercid on Saturday 25th July. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you rely on later in court. Anything you do say may be given as evidence. Do you understand?'

 Mordred had been enchanted, his powers stolen, only last night, and Merlin already felt like collapsing. The grime on the window reminded him of wet dirt, muddy and trodden through, compacted like the ground at a sodden funeral. Uther's had been like that. Overcast. Wet. Muddy. 

'Do you understand?' Bayard pressed again, shaking him slightly.

'Yes,' Merlin said, and the Inspector led him away. Right to left, the room disappeared from view. The taunt, the funeral window, the empty fireplace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! :D  
> (The timeline of this story still takes place in the summer so you can imagine the toasty warmth of July and all to stave off the winter chill - if you want to anyway ^_^ )


	16. Madness

 Mordred covered his mouth as a yawn stretched it open. He blinked away the tired tears and checked the time on his watch. It's thin silver hands felt like old companions as it read seven thirty five. Exhaustion made each step heavier than it should have been, but the thought of a warm bed, of escaping the underwhelming world, kept him going. 

'Congratulations, Mordred. You're the talk of the town,' Bayard said, a heavy hand falling down on his shoulder. He was less than ten feet from the exit, from escape. 'Out of curiosity, where exactly did Old Religion take you? The whole kidnapping thing was never really investigated. Shoddy police work if I’ve ever seen it. When did you escape? How did you?'

 Mordred stifled another yawn and stepped out of the Chief Inspector's reach. 'Is this a formal interrogation?'

'No, no, just curious,' he assured him. While his thoughts felt like tar, his chest hollowed out, Mordred knew a liar when he saw one. Morgana had taught him an important life lesson. He was an expert too, wasn't he? Deception was a forte of his, whether he was morally corrupt under an enchantment or uncomfortably self aware. 'I'm just surprised. After disappearing for half a year you got a job with the Met so easily. Very surprised when I heard you had no substantial education too.'

 Mordred narrowed his eyes. 'That's none of your business.'

'What about these disturbing rumours about you and Merlin?'

'What do you really want?'

 Bayard grinned at him, earnestly laughing. 'The truth. What else? At my age you develop little patience for lies and corruption. I've seen plenty good men turn criminal and they nearly always influence those around them. Want to make sure you're not a victim of Merlin's fallout.'

'I'm not, and he's no criminal.'

'We'll see about that,' he said with a pointed look. 'He's in police custody right now. Found him at that dump Old Religion were using. I found him at Edwin Muirden's murder scene. Quite the coincidence, don't you think? Another man found dead, Old Religion, and Merlin mentioned by name.'

'By name?'

'Nice little note burned into the wall. Said "Come find me, Merlin." Don't know what games you lot are playing, but it's time to pack up and go,’ Bayard said, at ease in his own authority. Mordred would have laughed at his ignorance if another flood of nausea hadn't been tumbling through his body. 'If you're involved in any way, your head will be on the chopping block. Same as his and whoever else's.'

'Thanks for the warning,' Mordred said and fetched up his last false smile of the day.

 Bayard smacked him on the arm. 'What are friends for.'

 Mordred drifted away once Bayard has retreated back to his lonely corner of Scotland Yard. Out of the door he made the long journey home. _Home._ It didn't quite feel like it. Nothing really did.

 Mordred hesitated at his flat's door, the dying light outside rendered moot by the artificial bulbs' in the stairwell. He could hear the television. He pushed the key into the lock and twisted. The door accepted him, welcomed him back. To his left the hallway housed several doorways, two leading to bedrooms, one to the bathroom, one to the kitchen another to the living room. He could fall into bed and leave Morgana be. Make a cup of tea beforehand. He did neither. 

 She had her knees pulled up to her chest, keenly focused on the movie.

'What're you watching?' he said, moving to stand behind the sofa.

 Morgana didn't look up at him when she answered, 'Stardust.'

 Mordred recognised the scene currently playing with Claire Danes lying in a crater. He'd noticed Morgana had a penchant for fantasy and romance. He walked around the sofa and took his seat next to her. The balcony door was open again, gentle light and air filling the room. 'Merlin's in a holding cell. You have to tell them. Tomorrow. Tell everyone. Anyone.'

 She looked at him. 'Is anyone important enough still in the office?'

'No, but first thing tomorrow-'

'I tell them,' she finished. It wasn't intrusive. It was understanding. He nodded. 'I was going to make bolognese. Want some?'

'I can help,' Mordred said and made to stand but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

'Don't worry about it. I've seen this way too many times, so you can relax and I can cook,' she told him with a smile. 'It won't take long anyway.'

'Sure?'

'Exceptionally.'

 She unfolded her long legs and was heading out of the room the next second, but she stopped before the doorway. 'Mordred?'

'Yeah?' he said and turned around, elbow hooked over the back of the sofa. He couldn't feel her magic. She'd never felt so separate from him. It felt more secure in one way, his own feelings and thoughts his alone, and the same for hers. In another way, a confusing and hateful way, he felt like he was missing more than his own magic. He was missing Merlin. He was missing Morgana. Maybe their past lives, their powers, tied them together with strings none of them could ever cut. Not fully anyway. The solid cushions and frame of the sofa comforted him, kept his body grounded as his mind spun.

 She paused. 'Everything will work out.'

 He smiled. He couldn't help it. 'Are you trying to comfort me?'

'Might be,' Morgana said, hand holding onto the door frame, ready to pull her away.

 Mordred's smile grew wider. 'Thanks.'

 She returned it and left to the kitchen. He pulled off his boots and crossed his legs. His toes curled into the soft fabric of the socks as they were warmed beneath his knees. Another yawn followed by the slightly blurred vision from tears. The faded smile came back to him. Partly paying attention to the movie, his mind wandered and he found he was relaxed. As relaxed as he could be. His magic was gone. His supervisor had died in his arms. He could never be with Merlin, not the way he wanted. The woman who'd wrecked it all was now making him dinner and telling him it would all work out.

 Mordred was as relaxed as he could be.

 

* * *

 

 Morgana felt thin. Her nerves spread across the Yard and then beyond to the Crown Prosecution. Scoldings, silences, swearing. She'd had it all. Monday was coming to a close, and now National to International press watched her eagerly in front of Scotland Yard. Drooling. Waiting. The Commissioner had made his address and stood to the side with the handcuffs ready. It was all a grand affair, highly publicised and highly controversial. She took in a deep breath of the warm evening air and remembered the way Mordred had smiled. The folding of skin under his eyes. How it puffed out with his cheeks. Puffed out the sadness.

 Time was running out.

'It's true. All of it. I joined Old Religion out of spite towards Uther, driven by personal vendettas. I emotionally and psychologically manipulated Mordred Leir, attempted to murder officers DS Emrys and Pendragon. I succeeded when it came to my own father and Cenred Mercid,' she said. Her words were clear, controlled, and refreshing. No reporter interrupted. The public watched from the barriers. She was a killer. A police officer and a killer. Taking the fall for Cenred's murder may have bloodied her hands more but it cleared Merlin. Which she had to do. He had to be cleared. The burning of her dreams, the acrid smoke, haunted every breath she took. 'Saying sorry doesn't really cut it, and even if I did it would sound conceited, but I'll still formally apologise to the public and the Met. This is my confession.'

 Silence. She quickly pursed her lips to hide the smile at how horrific the scene must be. Proven innocent, the people loathing Merlin were all proved wrong. The courts proved to be corruptible. It felt bubbly. Maybe this was what madness felt like: Hiding a smile from the silent, corruptible, world. Not knowing who you are, only what you’ve done and can do.

 'Thank you for your time,' she added and walked over to the Commissioner. His uniform was marked by the emblems of his rank, each shoulder bearing a crown and wreath, the cap decorated and his expression stern. 'This is the part where you put me in handcuffs.'

'Why go to all the trouble?' he asked her, his voice audible even for the reporters standing several yards away. 'Why try to destroy the careers of good men?'

 Now she smiled. Not in mocking, or some twisted glee. She smiled gently, and sombrely. 'You wouldn't believe me if I told you.'

'Well then,' the Commissioner said. He moved stiffly when he gestured for her to turn around and closed the cuffs around her wrists. 'Morgana La Fey, I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of your father, Uther Pendragon, perverting the course of justice in the highest degree, psychologically abusing Mordred Leir, Merlin Emrys, Arthur Pendragon and anything else mentioned in your public confession. You don’t have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you don’t mention when questioned something you may later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.'

 The spectators came to life like puppets at a circus show, with the click of metal handcuffs locking into place, and energy rippled through them as realisation dawned. Morgana La Fey: corrupt, killer, confessor. Liar? Ceremony over, more uniformed officers came to take her away.

 The Commissioner handled any lingering questions and Morgana was led to the holding cells. The walk was gruelling, officers glaring at her with fire in their eyes. Disgust, betrayal, disappointment, all of it and none of it. She'd become an adult within the ranks of the police, attending dinners with Uther from as early as eight years old. It felt like one large family of strangers all collaboratively kicking her out of the house. 

 The heavy cell door closed behind her, the cuffs removed and guards posted. It was a grey cube. A thin and hard mattress rested at the opposite end and a small window high up on the wall let in the thin evening light. Merlin's fading magic radiated from the right wall, the warmth of it dying out like a fire deprived of anymore wood. 

 Morgana pressed her hands against it, spread her fingers and began the enchantment. Protection against Aredian, if it were at all possible, was Merlin's prerogative. The magic was drawn from her palms and fingers like blood, cast into the stone and plaster to then be plucked free on the other side. Drop by drop her magic, her blood, constructed a shield around him. Her own spell was infused with whatever remained of Merlin's power and, row by row, each bead of her magic became a drop of fire. 

 She could feel it, though. Merlin's strength was drifting. Leaving him to fade in symphony with Mordred. 

 

* * *

 

'I understand you can't discuss the finer points of the Operation, but can you tell us how it felt? It's rare to hear about police officers playing spy, at least beyond the movie screen,' the BBC presenter said with smile. Mordred mirrored it, keeping his expressions modest and controlled. His elbows rested against the shining black surface of the round table, hands clasped together. Skin against skin and stable support to keep him grounded. 'Were you scared?'

'No, I wasn't scared.'

'Despite your history with them?'

 His carefully maintained eye contact faltered. It was all too public. All too exposed. They didn't know the half of it despite that fact. Magic? Reincarnation? They'd laugh and lock him in a padded cell.

 Glass surrounded them, his words caught in bubble situated at the centre of Britain's main hub for media. For digging out the truth and exploring human nature. It was a privilege he didn't deserve. One he didn't want.

 The video cameras hoisted and held up by black metal arms zoomed and shifted appropriately. Mordred could feel the eyes of thousands staring out at him from the bottomless cold lenses. Imagined he could that is. His magic was well and truly gone now. 

'You mean when they tortured me and tried to use me to ruin DCI Kilgharrah's investigation?' he replied. The presenter's eyes widened slightly, but she nodded in agreement and composed herself within the second. 'If they hadn't done those things, I doubt I'd have been able to infiltrate their operations. That's not to say I would have preferred it not happen in the first place.'

'You're also putting yourself at great risk by identifying with the case, aren't you? Such a high profile arrest, the death toll involved alone, is likely to grab the attention of dangerous people.'

'A faceless enemy isn't threatening. I'm making it real for anyone who wishes to harm, like Old Religion. If a man can stop them, find and arrest them at least, then being caught becomes a real possibility. The Metropolitan Police, Scotland Yard, won't hide behind masks like the terrorists, killers, robbers. The face of the Met, if one person's in particular, has been the Commissioner's, and . . . Well, he's not too intimidating,' Mordred said with precisely cued smiles and appropriate lilts in his voice. He was reading off a mental script provided by the Commissioner and the "media liaison" James. It was bordering on professionally insulting, but the Commissioner had seemed convinced some satire was needed. 'Hopefully I am.'

'We'll let the people be the judge of that,' she said with her smile wiped from her lips the next moment. 'Does this mark a new approach by the Met then?'

 Mordred nodded and pulled his hands back to rest in his lap. 'It does. The Commissioner made it clear to me earlier today that change is coming. Some might say it's already knocking at London's doorstep.'

 The presenter lifted a finger to her ear piece, her mouth opening in shock. 'Sorry, there's breaking news. Morgana La Fey has pleaded guilty to the crimes she was accused of at the start of this year, alongside confessing to the murder of Cenred Mercid,' she said. Her attention returned to him. 'With DS Emrys' accusations slated, you've been forced to work alongside her?'

 He paused, mouth open dumbly for a second before he shifted an appropriately concerned expression onto his face. ‘Yes, I have been.’

'This must be the greatest scandal of the last decade, if not more,' she said, and directed his focus to the large screens on the curved wall opposite where a live feed had been brought up. 'You don't mind if we-'

'No, of course not.’

 The video stream started playing, and Mordred watched the screen. 'Reporting live from Scotland Yard, Morgana La Fey is being taken into police custody.' 

 He saw her being cuffed by the Commissioner before two nameless officers picked up the torch of ceremony and escorted her out of sight. Morgana had kept her word. They kept recording as the Commissioner made his closing statements. Mordred's name came up, then the bombings, the internal affairs investigation launched against Merlin, Arthur, their whole team. Then he too left and the reporter at the scene had his final words. 

'You seem remarkably well adjusted for a man who's gone through so much,' the presenter said. The cameras had refocused on them.

'Doesn't mean I am,' Mordred said. He was cut off from Merlin and Morgana. He was cut off from himself. At least when he'd been enchanted, anchored to the bottom of his own mind while a monster lived through him, he knew what was happening. Knew he could fight it and break free. This time? He knew nothing at all. 'I have people who get me through everything.'

 Her composed expression seemed to soften around the edges. 'Don't we all? Thank you for coming in, Mordred. I'm sure we'll hear good things about your work within the Metropolitan police in the coming months. Next, we look at the growing turmoil in Syria, Calais being brought to a halt by migrants and efforts to tackle corruption in Kenya. More after the break.'

 Mordred pushed away from the table on the high black chair. Everything was polished and pristine. Beyond the glass a mass of red carpet, walls, computers and people buzzed.

'I think you'll make a wonderful new face for the Metropolitan police,' the presenter said as she brushed through her sandy hair.

 He got to his feet and adjusted his tie. 'Thank you.'

'Got a few days off for your heroics?’

 Mordred swallowed and headed to the glass exit. Another draining wave poured through him. 'In this day and age?'

 She laughed. 'Have a good night.'

'You too,' he said with what he hoped was a smile. Mordred stepped out of the bubble and was met with an assistant who led him back to the main foyer where he was dutifully left to his own wits. The deep blue hue of night waited on the other side of slanted panes that cut through the dark wooden doors. He was still bathed in the bright light which reflected off marble and seemed to emanate from every corner. The lone receptionist sat behind the low and long table barely blinked an eye at him as he passed. Each step echoed and made his ears ring. How could he still be hollowed out? How was there anything left for the spell to take? 

 Outside the cool air hit his hot skin like a bed sheet. It wrapped around him as he headed across the rectangular plaza. The broadcasting house stood like an open maw, jaws on either side and the foyer out of mind behind him. Oxford Circus was five minutes away. Five minutes and then the breaths and heat of strangers. Five minutes and he would speed through London within it's veins, pumped full of people and life. 

 Mordred's pace was quick with strong strides carrying him forward. Even so late and an overcast sky darkening the streets the shops cast their lights out in welcome.

 It was noisy. Colourful. Boring. Not once had he missed the days he went without magic. Without it he'd been defenceless. He'd sworn never to be again. Things hadn't been going to plan.

 His steps were resolute but his body ached and fear traced its thin fingers up his spine, along the back of his neck, to close around his throat. Three minutes away.

 Traffic lights barred his path at the next road and he waited, people pooling around him and those fingers squeezing and pinching at his skin. They pulled at the cold sheet of air, twisted it into a rope and secured it around his neck. Green. He walked. Two minutes.

 Mindless conversations, car horns and engines, blank faces staring out from black cabs. Red buses moved slowly along their routes, stuffed with passengers. Mordred marched along. One minute.

 The buildings towered seven floors or higher, their ground floors playing host to business and commodity. His button down shirt stuck to his skin in face of the fine and light material. Ahead he saw the crossroads, where one giant artery of trade met three more. The centre was flanked by two holes leading down to Oxford Circus Underground. Salvation. 

 Ignoring an odd sting which brushed his throat, Mordred descended and hid himself in the crowds. He was being followed. Instincts never lied. Not when they were all he had. The Victoria then familiar Northern lines and quarter of an hour later he was rising again to walk onto his home ground. Fear had melted away in the heat of the journey and he made it back to his flat.

 He closed the door and loosened the tie around his neck. It was dark and quiet. A soft breeze danced its way to him down the hallway. Following it, Mordred found the balcony door open and the curtains performing to the wind's tune. They curved outwards, rose and fell in rhythm.

 It felt like nothing. The way his pulse began to slow, his breaths deepen. The shadows stretched and bloomed, adopting a blue tinge before brightening into a green. Human forms shifted out from the darkness, eyes shining like amber stones filled with sunlight. 

 It all turned red. Like the carpets, his blood after the bomb went off, the cloaks of Arthur's knights. His tired eyes saw the ground in time to land on his elbows. Fear was gone. Magic was gone. Mordred's head bent down and rested against the wood as the shadows unfurled, revealing their endless cores of blue and black in the wood's grain. He'd been right. Followed. 

 A hand veiled with blue smoke reached out to him and closed around his mouth, cold and choking. His next breath was frozen and the shadows spilled and stretched into his body. Each limb disappeared and the red stained world left his view. 

 Mordred felt the lurch of a Vanishing before his thoughts blurred with the smoke and fell into shadows.


	17. Find Me

Merlin watched Bayard with mild irritation. While sleeping in a holding cell for two nights in a row wasn't the highlight of his life, it beat being interrogated by an idiot with a god complex.

The Inspector stood behind the chair provided, hands holding onto the back of its frame. 'Did you threaten Morgana La Fey into confessing?'

'No.'

'What were you doing at Edwin Muirden's murder scene?'

Merlin hooked his ankle over the opposite knee and tried to settle into the hard metal chair. 'Investigating.'

Bayard pushed away from his domineering stance to scrape his chair out from under the table. ‘Define your relationship with Mordred Leir.’

'Irrelevant,' he said with narrowed eyes. The Inspector sat down. His watery ones were fixed on Merlin as he tapped a pen against the notepad. Small, meaningless, but the way he drove the lid into the paper at the sharp angle seemed remarkably similar to a stabbing motion.

'I know you did it.'

'What?'

'Cut Cenred's throat,' Bayard said. His choice of interrogation room was excellent. Suitably dark, un-renovated and in a distant corner of the Yard people would be unlikely to disturb. The dim lighting left Merlin yearning for proper sleep. For escape.

'Oh, well if that's it-'

'You're a fraud of a police officer,' he snapped and let the pen hit the paper as he leaned back. 'You know that? Not an ounce of duty or dignity in you. The very least you could do is admit it.'

'And if I'm innocent?'

'Impossible.' Bayard was relentless. Convinced. He slid the pen onto the table and lifted the first page, reading some of the notes. 'No parents?'

Merlin resisted the urge to try and decipher his shorthand. 'What of it?'

'I've done my digging, Merlin. You're an orphan. Mother died when you were four. Father disappeared long before that. Did he do it? Kill her?'

Merlin crossed his arms. Bayard knew how to push it. 'How should I know?'

'Also see you went to Oxford,' he went on, glancing at his list of facts. He wanted to stick Merlin on the pyre. 'Got a First in Ancient and Modern History. How did you get into police work from that?'

'With effort and skill,' he bit out. 'How is this relevant?'

'You're an intelligent man, Merlin. Smart enough to lie convincingly.'

He laughed. It was a sharp sound. Insincere. Fed up. 'So, by your logic, anyone with an IQ higher than a hundred and forty is a pathological liar?'

'No attachments and no family. If that isn't a recipe for a skewed psyche, I don't know what is.'

The knock at the door sent a crack through the conversation. Bayard looked to it when Gwaine poked his head in. Merlin could have kissed him.

'Bayard,' the Irishman started, entering with the left open behind him, 'we meet again.'

'Get out,' the Inspector snapped.

'I'm here to see DS Emrys released. Your appeal to hold him for another thirty six hours has been rejected,' Gwaine explained with a sombre expression. The smile shone out behind it regardless. 'In fact, I think the Commissioner's quite offended. No evidence, and with Morgana's confession? Doesn't look good.'

'He's guilty,' Bayard said. 'The nurse saw him.'

'Sure he is.' Gwaine gave him a grin. 'How're you doing Merlin?'

Merlin got up and returned his smile. 'Just peachy.'

'Don't look it.' Gwaine turned to the Inspector with a challenge in his eyes. 'Bayard, you can't hold him. Don't make this embarrassing.'

'I trust my instincts. If Merlin didn't kill Cenred, then fair enough. But he's not a good man. He's a killer. Even if you lot won't acknowledge it.'

'And they're good instincts, are they?'

'Haven't failed me these last twenty years, so yes. Haven't been wrong once.'

'Come on, Merlin,' Gwaine said after a pause. 'Time you got some fresh air.'

He passed Bayard and avoided eye contact. He'd seen enough of the man. Gwaine walked with him as they left the cells and law breakers behind, collecting his personal belongings on the way. Merlin pressed his lips together as he endeavoured to ignore the sickness rolling around in his stomach. The Irishman was telling him about Mordred's time on television, about DC Maclain's continued absence and the rumours of her mental break. How Bayard's involvement was in part thanks to Vivian's refusal to continue her own investigation.

'Also got the CCTV tapes from that adorable cafe you and Arthur visited,' he continued in the lift. Merlin leaned against the metal wall. Felt how they rose and gravity's irrelevance to the whole process. Watched Gwaine as he spoke, the way he held himself so proudly. The way he seemed duller without that green infusion which clung to him before Merlin's magic waned. 'The waitress remembered you being there too, so you're officially innocent.'

The doors opened and Gwen's neutral face on the other side lit up.

'Merlin,' she said with a smile. 'Did you hear about her confession?'

He walked out towards their section of operations. Everyone was there but one. 'Where's Arthur?'

‘Going to talk to her right now,' Gwen answered, repositioning the stack of papers in her arms. 

'Is that such a good idea?'

'He insisted.'

'Has Operation Nova started up again?'

'Merlin,' Gwaine interrupted, standing in the way of his irritable stride. 'This is all going to take time, and I don't think the higher ups are in a good mood.'

Merlin perched on his desk. 'Why does that matter?'

Agravaine left Kilgharrah's office and marched towards him. 'DS Emrys. By now you've heard?'

'I have.'

'Not a word to the press, understand? Home Office is cleaning up the mess, and you need to keep out of it,' the DCS instructed. His thick eyebrows were comical. As if drawn on with a fat black marker. Complimented well with that too long hair and ridiculous side burns. 'You'll be questioned about your disappearance as well and this task force will be reprimanded for the dismissal of duties, regardless of any good intent. No hard feelings, I'm sure.'

'Hate to say it but Mordred's publicity is probably our saving grace,' Leon said from his desk. Merlin frowned and sought out Gwaine with a questioning look.

'Mordred's been declared the new face of the Met police as of last night. Quite inspiring really. Coincided perfectly with Morgana's confession,' he supplied. _Last night._ Merlin still hadn't recovered from it. One second staring at the blank cell wall, the next overcome with something worse than sickness or fear. He'd been paralysed. The shock of it dazed him for hours afterwards, every shadow endless and any movement painful. He'd only stopped shivering when Bayard called on him to be questioned that morning, the fifth bout he'd put Merlin through.

'Mate, you should probably wash up and get some rest,' Gwaine suggested, tugging him out of his thoughts. Reality was dimensionless in comparison. He also felt out of place. Running, hiding, the magic, the threats, the past. All of it pressed onto him but there he was again. Surrounded by the _task force_. By bureaucracy.

'Probably,' he said before heading for the lift. Last night, that paralysis, it wasn't nothing. It never was. Not with him, or Mordred. Merlin kept his thoughts centred as the lift doors shut again. He cut out Gwaine's look of confusion, Agravaine's irritation, Gwen's curiosity. None of it mattered. Something cold was crawling beneath his skin. He had to find out what. 

Half an hour later Merlin stood in Mordred's flat. A good five minutes had been spent trying to unlock the door, and succeeding had paid a price. Movement was more gruelling than ever. 

No life. No warmth. He stepped softly, checking the bedrooms and kitchen before reaching the living room. The cold afternoon wind chased around it carelessly. Soft fabric billowed with the breeze but everything else was motionless. Wordless. Daylight kept it bearable. 

Merlin crouched down to the floorboards and pushed his palm against the cool wood. Traced the fine lines in the grain with his eyes. That feeling which had enveloped him that night must have been magic. His connection to Mordred was stronger. There were times he could have sworn he felt another heart beating in his chest. At times he grew dizzy with the sound of too much rushing blood.

Standing back up, Merlin went to close the balcony door. His thoughts skirted along the edge of every possible action he could take. Find Mordred. _Find me, Merlin._ Aredian. Nimueh still missing. Nimueh, who had hoodwinked Mordred. Lies within lies. Morgana. Aredian had been watching him. Knew about Old Religion. Wanted to be found by him.

The hand of fear wanted to pull Merlin back when he left. He was terrified. He couldn't afford to be. Hiding. Running. It wasn’t an option. Not anymore.

He showered, ate food, changed old clothes for fresh ones. It all overlapped and blurred in his mind. Only once he was clean, ready, and had boarded the bus heading for the witch hunter's borough, did things become clear. He fought against the drowsiness and marched along road after road once disembarked. Ten minutes. The townhouse rose into the evening sky like some gate leading to a strange new kingdom.

Merlin approached the front door. The upstairs light left a yellow glow on the drawn curtain. An invitation. He tried the handle and the door welcomed him. He paused before the first step which led up to the second and third floors. There was nothing to hint what Aredian had planned. No void. Just the memory of a fear, a feeling, lodged in his mind, which clogging his thoughts. Mordred was gone and weak and he didn't know what else to do. 

_Find me, Merlin. Find me._ Merlin took the steps two by two and swallowed down the fear which kept creeping back. The only lit room cast a rectangle of golden light onto the floor. It stretched down the hallway and almost reached him where he stood on the landing. He stepped out of the shadows. His breathing seemed too loud. Adrenaline dripped into his bloodstream.

The golden light bathed him when he entered the bedroom.

Aredian regarded him with a strange sort of impartiality. 'You took your time.' 

The witch hunter reclined in a wooden chair in the far corner of the room, a stout glass of alcohol in hand as he observed the scene and Merlin like a spectator of a personal performance. Merlin shifted his stare away from the hunter, and his stomach wrenched. Golden hair. It spilled out like waves over the pillows. Everything was terrible and tinged with that same honey which coated her voice. All except her skin. The light and gold dusting which so painfully matched Arthur had darkened and turned to ash. The blue of death bloomed over her lips and sucked the blush from her cheeks.

'She came to me. Asked about you. Poor girl tried to maintain her professionalism. One mention of magic and it all came tumbling out. Your magic. You sent her into madness, or close enough at least,' Aredian said. His controlled, cultured voice danced around the room and touched both characters in his play. Soaked into the gentle light, into Merlin, into her corpse. 'This was the least I could do.'

Her throat was delicately bruised. Carefully done, the ligature was fine and left a necklace engrained in her skin. Bloodless. A long and shuddering breath rolled out of him, and a shiver crossed his skin. The cold enveloped him like a cloak. Merlin rested back against the open door and stared at Vivian lying on the bed. Her position was too stiff, too perfect, too motionless. Too artistic.

Aredian said nothing else until Merlin managed to ask, 'Why?'

‘Besides the charity of it? I knew you got my note. Thought it was only fair to make the situation explicitly clear. For both our sake's,' he answered and took an appreciative sip of the amber fluid. 'I ensured that Muirden’s death, as best fits your kind, and as a courtesy to you. I let it remain a mystery to the medics and the people. Cenred, however, was the only intended casualty meant to cast blame over you.'

Merlin balled his hands into fists and his nails pressed into the skin of his palms. 'But Morgana took the fall instead of me.'

'Which left me in need of another body and another motive. Her timing was excellent, really,' Aredian continued, casting an appreciative look to her dead body on the bed. 'Is this clearer for you yet, Merlin?'

He pushed the nails into his palms harder. The bones in his hand prevented him from going further. 

Aredian admired the scotch, rum, whatever it was, for a minute before growing tired of Merlin's continued silence. 'It won't stop. Cenred Mercid, Vivian Maclain, they're just the first. The next name on my list is your darling Arthur. You influence so many lives, Merlin, I doubt you even realise just how many. Every single one of them is a bloody finger pointing right at you. If I make it so. Now, I'm rather enjoying all of this, but as I've said: Your time will come. Fighting me won't work. Hiding won't work. Running won't work. Are we clear?'

'You want me to roll over and play dead,' Merlin replied with a hard glare. 

Aredian smiled, slowly, and studied him with all the power and experience resting easily behind his grey eyes. 'I want you to think on it. You have until Friday to get your affairs in order. I'm not unreasonable, Merlin. You have a choice in this. That's one thing I won't take away from you.'

He relaxed his hands and abandoned the door's support. 'Love a good show, don't you?'

'I work in news, Merlin. I hold spectacle with the highest regard, and you're not just anybody,' Aredian said and finished his drink. The hunter got up and rested the glass down on the bureau. Languid, calm, at home. As if a dead woman wasn't laid out as a threat three feet away.

Merlin breathed in the air polluted by the bitter golden light. 'Let me guess. It had to be extra special.'

'I'm glad we've reached a point of mutual understanding. Depending on what you decide come Friday, Miss Maclain here will be the first body to appear. Oh, and I do hope that Mordred's alright. I was rather hoping to purge him once I'd finished with you,' he said and walked up to him, the predatory, aristocratic smile now gone. 'Have a good evening, Merlin.'

He wanted to fight. To hide. To run. To do anything, something, but the shock and Mordred's weakness left him brittle. Burned his strength down to the bare bones.

 Friday. Three days away. That's one thing he had. The worst thing of all: Time.

 Merlin left, heading back into the shadows with his time, his fear, and his anger.

  _Find me, Merlin._

 He'd played right into Aredian's hand.

 

* * *

 

 The gunshot sounded like a thunderclap. Arthur's finger held down the trigger with a wild shine in his eyes. Through the air the bullet left a trail of displaced dust. Carved out a path to find life and take it. Red burst out like a berry's juices, seeping into the fabric slowly before it began to spiral. One vibrant line thickened and connected with the other as it spread. 

 Dark and thick. It inched out from where Mordred drove the dagger deep into the man's gut. His eyes glowed with magic as he whispered something against the man's ear before he let the body thump to the ground. He stood over the corpse, beaten and bleeding with the weapon at ease in his hand. The hum of machinery deafened the world and it grew louder. Mordred dropped the dagger, its blade smacking against the floor with a clang that echoed outwards. It merged with the drumming beat of mechanical arms pumping in large vats, and the noise ballooned. The ground, the air, the berry blood, Mordred, it all curved and blurred and spilled into dark waves of murky grey.

 They rose and fell like swords in battle. Sharp and relentless, the water beat down into itself and snatched at the harsh winds rushing above its surface. The naked cliff side was jagged and worn, from where the water clung at its base to its summit where Merlin stood. The gold power churned around his irises. 

 It rumbled through the howling winds and the crashing ocean below. A roar which fell down from the skies and shook through Merlin's skin and bones. The magic circling within his eyes darkened and parted for the black irises as they stretched. Tapered above and below they formed gashes in the golden pools. The eyes of a reptile. Of a dragon.

 Rain accompanied the next roar that thundered through the fabric of the air. Gentle at first, it soon came down in angry torrents. The slanted icy sheets drenched Merlin as he waited. Waited with the approaching winds carrying a rhythmic beat. Every four seconds a stronger gust cut through the air. Hit the rain off its intended path. 

 Merlin stared out into the mist across the ocean. Behind him a winged shadow grew, driving towards him steadily. 

 A small glow in the distance soon spread and barraged out into a fire, bright like the magic in his eyes. Both rain and cloud burned as it lit the sky. Flames consumed him. Merlin breathed it in. Filled his lungs with the heat.

 Morgana gasped for air. Pure air. It soaked her skin. The wet mist and rainfall then the dry and crackling air. Her heart echoed the rhythm of the wings, of the machinery, as she stared out into the dark prison cell. Each beat came with a whisper. It faded as she shed the fog of sleep, of dreams, but behind the fire and mist, the waves and clang of the blade, it was unforgettable. One word that scraped through the dreams, thin one moment then guttural, primal, the next.

_Dragonlord._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uni term kicks off again tomorrow so updates may be a bit sporadic with assignments and coursework, but I'll try not leave it as long as last term - Hope you all have a great start to the new year! ^_^


	18. Memories, Maybe Dreams

 'The Great Dragon,' Morgana said when Kilgharrah opened the door to her cell. She kept her back pressed against the wall, knees pulled up to her chest, and watched him step inside. Her dry eyes had become itchy and the scratchy sensation forced her to blink too many times. 

 He didn't come any closer as he watched her. Shivers still lanced through her body as the cold touch of the rain from her dream blew into her. It wasn't really there. She knew that. It didn't stop though. Hours after waking up and she still felt wet, her skin burned and her ears ached from the growl in the air.

 His blank expression bore into her. 'I have a task for you.'

'Task?'

'You need to find Nimueh.'

 She tightened her arms around her legs to secure them harder against her chest as another sheet of ghost rain ran into her. 'Isn't Arthur charging ahead with all his knights to do just that?'

'They don't have magic,' Kilgharrah said.

'Merlin, then.'

'As powerless as Mordred,' he shot her down. The air tasted wet and thick as Morgana kept her breaths steady. 'Track Nimueh's magic, not her physical presence. It will be noticeable enough. I think she plans to return magic to all the previous users who have been brought into this modern world with us. With renewed strength. She'll have to create a powerful weapon, and she can't conceal those enchantments. You're a High Priestess, like her, which should make it easier. Search the mountains.'

 Morgana fought to stay focused, the ballooning fire on that cliff blinding her for a moment. If she winced, Kilgharrah didn't say anything, or didn't notice. 'Mountains?'

'There's no time for this, Morgana,' he said and knocked on the cell door. 'I'm surprised you haven't tried to find her already given what she’s done and how much you care for that boy.'

 She narrowed her sore eyes. 'His name is Mordred.'

'As if I could ever forget that name.' The clang of keys outside approached and the tumblers in the lock soon turned with a mechanical roll and click. 'Find her. You have until midnight on Friday.'

'What happens then?'

'If you fail? Mordred dies.'

Morgana pressed her lips together and shut her eyes against the onslaught of unwelcome feelings. Why couldn't the rain just go away? Why couldn't she stop hearing it fold over in her head? Dragonlord, Dragonlord, Dragonlord. She took in a breath of the hot wet air. 'She's going to kill him.'

'After a fashion. The evidence suggests as much. Taking his magic is the first step in a ritual,’ Kilgharrah answered with his weathered voice. 'Trust in your powers, in my authority, and find Nimueh. Find her and you'll find him too.'

 The cell door squeaked as it opened, but she didn't hear his footsteps. At last she looked back up and saw him standing by the open door. 'Whatever it is you saw last night, it would be best if you kept it to yourself for now.'

Her forehead ached with the frown that pushed into it.

'Your visions should never be ignored, but choose how you respond to them with great care.'

'Why is this happening?' she asked before he could leave. Her voice was strong in spite of how battered she felt, and she almost whimpered when the question made it out into the air. A soft kind of darkness fell over Kilgharrah's eyes. 'Why are we here? How can we all be here?'

'History repeats itself, Morgana,' he said after a pause and stepped out. 'We've been brought back because we need to be here. Something has changed in the world and we're the ones who have to protect it.'

 The door shut, locked, and she bowed her head down, chin to chest with hands resting on the back of her neck. In the space between her knees, staring down into the triangular gap formed by her chest and legs, she could finally breath in warm, dry air. The magic grated against her nerves but she coaxed it out and struck out with as much strength as she could safely manage. 

 The web spread outwards. Each string merged with and passed through people, bricks, birds, trains. They plucked with the whispers of subdued magic, but none had the right tone. She knew mountains were quite a while from London, so kept calm and waited for the right string to hit the right tone with the right kind of magic. It would take time, but she was old friends with patience.

 

* * *

 

 Merlin saw Arthur glare at Gaius when he stepped out of the lift. The human, handsome, clueless Arthur who was progressively more angry and confused each time he saw him. The two stood by Arthur's desk in a serious discussion which cut short once Kilgharrah reached them from his office.

 Merlin wanted to remain by the lift doors, leave without them knowing he'd been there, but he had to tell them. Moving was a general pain he'd gotten used to but he was slower, and it took him twice as long to reach them. Twice as long for the few officers on the floor to shoot him strange looks and whisper to each other in a remarkably unprofessional way.

 He was close enough to hear Arthur scoff and say, 'You can't be serious.'

'I'm deadly serious, Arthur. My telling you is a professional courtesy. Bayard is on his way. You, and your team, have a robbery to go deal with.'

 Arthur turned to Gaius. 'There's no DNA linking Edwin's murder to-'

 He stopped when he saw Merlin. They all faced him with varying degrees of apprehension and concern.

'No, there wasn't any DNA to link Merlin to Edwin’s murder,' Gaius finished for him. ‘There was one last piece of evidence I couldn’t quite understand.’ 

'The Gaelic found in Edwin's pocket?' Kilgharrah asked and held out an evidence bag with a note on it. Gaius took it from him, the two fazed by his appearance for only a moment. Arthur hadn't stopped staring at him, though. 'Hope you don't mind I borrowed it yesterday. I had my suspicions but this confirmed them. It's quite possibly the most important piece of evidence, and very unnerving. This term, Lughnasadh, is more commonly known as-'

 Arthur came towards him and interrupted them when he asked, 'Merlin, are you alright?'

 Merlin met his stare. He wasn’t alright. He didn’t matter though, not then. 'I think Nimueh took Mordred.'

 Kilgharrah hummed. 'I suspected as much.'

 Merlin frowned and Arthur mirrored his confusion. 'You suspected as much?'

'I believe Nimueh intends to sacrifice Mordred's magic, and then his life. Your life and magic too, Merlin. Like I was saying, it's part of an ancient ritual taking place during Lúnasa which is in a few days-'

'Lúnasa?'

'The more common term for what Edwin wrote on this paper. In ancient Gaelic tradition it marks the start of the harvest. Midway between the summer solstice and autumn equinox. A prime time to access powerful magic, and if timed correctly with a powerful sacrifice it will allow Nimueh to return magic to this world. The modern world hasn't evolved to handle that kind of situation. People's grasp on reality will fail, and a lot worse.’

'It'd be chaos,' Arthur said.

'Vivian Maclain is a perfect example,' Kilgharrah added and Merlin flinched. The whole scene he'd walked in on last night still clung to him and he couldn't get Aredian's warning out of his head. A warm hand slipped into his own and squeezed. 

'Don't blame yourself,' Arthur told him. 'She was going to find out eventually.' 

 Merlin pulled his hand back and stepped away from the three of them.

 Kilgharrah trained a questioning look onto him. 'What is it?'

'It's nothing.'

'This is no time for secrets, Emrys.'

'Vivian,' he started, his head now aching more than his body. It was like he'd run a marathon the day before without proper training, and was now left with pain blistering everywhere and a hangover without the drinking. 'She's dead.'

'Aredian?' Kilgharrah asked and Merlin nodded. Arthur had become more guarded, but the concern in his blue eyes was even harder. 

'We have to do something,' he said in a familiarly commanding way. 'About Nimueh, Aredian, all of it.'

 Merlin let out a long and tired breath. 

'You'll go do your job,' Kilgharrah ordered, getting an upset look from Arthur. 'There's nothing for you to do. Not now, at least. Merlin, I'm afraid your suspension will remain in place until everything's been cleared. You and DS Pendragon will be meeting with the Commissioner this Friday at one, and the interviewing process for your team will begin next week.'

'I understand.'

'That's it? A woman's been murdered, Kilgharrah, one of our own,' Arthur protested but Kilgharrah held up a hand to silence him.

'Two more of our own might be dead in two days time. Don't regard my attitude as one of neglect, DS Pendragon. There's nothing we can do. Aredian has outsmarted us at every turn so far and I refuse to make Merlin any more of a target than he already is. I trust you want to do the same?'

'Of course,' Arthur said, and at that point Merlin headed back to the lift with Aredian's threat resting on his tongue like a heavy metal coil. They couldn't know.

'Good. Then go do your job, while you still have one.'

 Arthur caught him in the lift before the doors could close.

'Merlin, how do you know Vivian's-'

'I don't want to talk about it, Arthur,' he said and pressed in the ground floor button. In the close proximity he noticed Arthur's cologne was different, or his experience of it was. It was woody, clean and subtle. Merlin looked at him and his hurt expression, Aredian's threat making the lump in his throat grow. He swallowed it down and clenched his teeth. Control. That's what he'd told Dr Ruadan he'd wanted so many weeks ago. He had to stay in control of himself, for Arthur.

'We need to talk. I haven't seen you in days, and people keep dying around you,' Arthur told him so blankly Merlin couldn't help but scoff. 'People keep dying around you' was as accurate a description he'd ever gotten. 'I want to know you're okay, even though I know you're not. You get that, right? I'm worried about you.'

'I just need time to figure things out,' Merlin assured him, hoping no one else got into the lift as it slowly dropped floor by floor. 'I need to be alone.'

 Arthur's held a hand gently at his back. 'I'm tired of leaving you alone.'

'I know, Arthur,' he said. 'I can do this, okay?'

'I don't know.'

'Thanks for the vote of confidence.' Merlin’s side-glance at the blonde made his chest hurt. The doors slid open to let some Uniforms enter the left. Merlin and Arthur shuffled to the back. The movement forced them closer together. 'I'm alright, really,' he told him in a quiet voice.

'You're a terrible liar.' Merlin looked down at his shoes. Arthur sighed and moved the hand at his back down to reach into his trouser pocket. 'I got you this.'

'A phone?' Merlin accepted it when Arthur held it out to him. It was an older Samsung model with slightly chipped silver edges that revealed a light grey. Merlin wondered what he'd be able to tell about its history if he had his magic, but part of him liked that he didn't know. He could only wonder.

'Noticed you left yours at the flat before we went to that café. Screen was wrecked, so I found my old one and booted it up,' Arthur explained. He'd have thought it sheepish if Arthur wasn't wearing such a deep look of sincerity and worry. 'Put all our numbers in it already. If you need help, with anything, just call, alright?'

 Merlin nodded and stuffed it into his jeans as the lift doors opened on the ground floor. 'Thanks.'

'I'll see you later?' Arthur asked they filed out with the others.

 Merlin paused and watched him for a moment. Arthur waited patiently, with expectant eyes and his mouth not quite closed. 'Sure.'

 He ducked his head down and headed out. The paparazzi lurked on the main street a few yards away, and he wished it would rain just to make their lives harder. Arthur hadn't followed him, and he was grateful. He had to think and organise. The 148 turned down Victoria Street and headed to the bus stop just in time. Merlin fished out his oyster and found a seat on the upper deck. He settled in for the journey with his new phone in hand and swiped it to life. Once it was awake he checked the Contacts and sure enough they were all there. Even Mordred. It must have been hard for Arthur to put that number on, not that it was of much use now. 

 The second summer shower for that day started up and a low rumble thrummed above the tall rooftops of the buildings. Rain pattered down against their glass walls and started to run over the bus quietly before it grew heavy and relentless. The view was obscured by running water and all sounds of traffic were muffled by the watery veil.

  He had tomorrow, and that was it. Aredian would come for him the next day. Hopefully not before he saw the Commissioner. He didn’t want to leave Arthur’s career in even more question by disappearing before he could sort it all out. That thought made him frown. Would he disappear? Would Aredian leave his body somewhere to be found? Would he make it look like murder or suicide? Merlin groaned and rested his elbow against the black windowsill, holding his tired head there as he scrolled through the random things Arthur had loaded onto the phone. From pictures to music to the BBC Weather app, he'd either forgotten to wipe it or kept it all there for Merlin. He shut the mobile down and put it back in his pocket to stare through the rain instead.

 

* * *

 

 Mordred couldn't move more than a few inches in any direction. There was plenty of space, but his body refused to function. With his head leaning back against the hard rock wall of what he assumed was some kind of cave, he could only watch as Nimueh's dark figure entered the claustrophobic space. It reminded him of the closet he'd hidden in at the Baker's house. From age nine to eleven that closet had been his best friend. Dark, closed, but warm and his own. This cave was dark, closed, and freezing. Too similar to his Camelot days for any possible comfort.

 'It's not long now, Mordred.' Nimueh's clear words brought him back to the moment, but focusing was hard and the shadows weighed down on everything. They were heavy and did their best to drag him back into the memories. 'Your power will give us our strength back. We'll take Albion back.'

  Albion. Nimueh was such a relic. People had to learn to let go of the traditions, of the ages gone by. History was history for a reason.

 'You still think they'll save you, don't you?'

  He tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry and his tongue stuck uncomfortably to the roof of his mouth. 

 'They won't, Mordred.'

 'Shut up,' he breathed and winced at the pain in his chapped lips as he blinked against the cold air.

 'You're alone, like you were when Morgana cursed you.'

  She'd said something similar yesterday, hadn't she? Or was it the day before? It was hard to tell. The fog in his brain kept messing with time, and the memories he'd worked so hard to forget kept crawling back up the back of his mind to play through like a sick movie reel. Camelot blurred with foster homes, murder merged with the heat of Merlin when they kissed, and the breaking porcelain mug chimed perfectly with the sound of sword striking against sword. 

 'Like you were when Old Religion controlled you. We're still controlling you actually, just differently.'

  She touched his arm and he couldn't move away. It was a light touch but invaded whatever space he had. Her words began to slip out of the air and he couldn't catch them. They fought with several others. The voices might have come from the memories, maybe dreams. One said something about the tea being cold, another was asking him about a case report. Merlin was there too, the low voice distinct but any words garbled. 

 'You aren't their friend, Mordred. You killed Arthur. You think Merlin can ever forgive that? In this life, in the next?'

 Mordred's limbs blended with the cold air and he concentrated on the sensation to try and block her out. It was as if he were everything in the cave. From the wall to the floor, that wet patch of moss that nestled against his right bare foot. Stretched through the air, he was strung tightly through it all by the strange words and that warm closet.

 'They'll sing songs about your sacrifice, Mordred. You've always been marked for greatness, and in this life you will truly come into that greatness. I'll see you again soon.'

 Nimueh was gone when he next opened his eyes. Part of his mind questioned whether she'd ever been there to being with. Questioned whether he was even in the cave. The warmth of the closet was so familiar, so real. The rough cardboard of an old shoe box dug into his left thigh, and the lemony smell of the detergent the Bakers always used was so strong he almost sneezed. The only sound was his own breathing: in, then out, and in again, like waves on a shore. Gentle and repetitive. Maybe he was standing on a beach. His feet were definitely cold enough.

 No, he was definitely in the closet, head sandwiched by the clothes that hung down from those thin wiry dry cleaners hangers. Most of them were too big for him, hand-me downs from whoever they'd decided to take in before him. They never mentioned that boy, and whenever he asked what happened to him he'd be shouted at or ignored or made to go have a timeout in the garage. He'd grow into them eventually, though, and they were a lot nicer than the clothes he'd taken with him from the last home. There was a really nice grey hoodie that he wanted to wear all the time, but he was too small and it swamped him. At night he snuck it on and used it to replace the duvet when he hid in the closet. He clutched the ends of the long sleeves in his fists. The extra fabric was soft and folded over with some of the uneven pleats slotted between his fingers. In a few years it would really fit. That was something to look forward to.

 

* * *

 

 Merlin had spent upwards of three hours just walking around, until he'd finally grabbed a seat on a bench in Southbank. Kilgharrah, Gaius, the Commissioner and even Bayard had all warned him to keep his distance from the Yard. Gwaine had been sending him updates of the robbery case they were working on. It was some jewellery store in New Bond Street, a very upper class and high profile target and easily solved. They'd be done with it in two weeks tops, only because they would be slowed down by the interviews next week. 

_Everything, everything will be alright._

 Arthur's taste in music weighed heavily in favour of indie rock, and the last track came to an upbeat guitar-filled close. Merlin had listened to the music left on the phone as he weighed one decision against the other. The pros and cons list stuffed in his jacket pocket was a reminder of the day's troubles. It was obvious. There wasn't a decision to be made, and he knew that. He'd already made it. Hell, he'd made it the second Aredian had threatened him. There was just one con that really made him hesitate, but he'd sifted it through with logic.

 A soft plucking started up through the earbuds, and then then an oddly clear but muffled voice joined it. It was an Oasis cover, the harsh guitar stripped and smoothed out. 

_By now you shoulda somehow realised what you gotta do._

 Merlin smiled at the lyrics and watched the strangers as they walked by. The bright red buses crossed Waterloo Bridge and caught the sunlight. It was late afternoon, and the day had seen only sunshine and reached a high of twenty four degree celsius. His body still shivered from a cold that wasn't his, but he felt the heat too. The light was comforting even if the the warmth had no real effect. That was the greatest con. If Aredian purged him, he effectively purged Mordred too. If he died, Mordred died too.

_Maybe you're gonna be the one that saves me._

 He and Mordred would both be removed from the situation. Nimueh wouldn't be able to sacrifice him, which would render her plans moot. Aredian would leave Arthur and the knights alone. Morgana would be safe, Kilgharrah and Gaius too. Gwen and Lance, Gwaine and Percy, Elyan and Leon. 

_All the roads we have to walk are winding._

 Everyone would be safe, including thousands more by stopping Nimueh. Aredian wasn't going to stop, and Merlin couldn't stop him, or save Mordred. He could protect Arthur though, even without his magic. He was his magic, magic was him, but he could still do that. He could save Arthur without it, and because of it. He'd only been able to save Arthur from Morgause seven months prior because of his magic. Without it that shot would have killed him. Morgana would have killed him. 

_And after all, you're my wonderwall._

 Merlin turned the music off and plucked out the headphones. He'd died in this life once already, and it hadn't been terrible. Temporary and from a bullet, which was different, but it must count for something. He'd let Arthur die once before too, let prophecy overrule him. He wasn't going to let that happen again. He couldn't. The decision was strange. It almost left him giddy, but hollow and tired at the same time. Tears rose up into his vision and blurred things slightly. He let them sit and burn for a moment before he wiped them away roughly with the palm of his hand. Merlin stood and walked to the concrete stairs that led up to the bridge. 

 He brought up Arthur's contact details and called him as he went. Several metallic rings passed before he picked up.

_'Merlin? You okay?'_

He worked his way up the steps and slipped around strangers, hearing similar background noises of traffic on the other end of the call. 'Yeah, where are you now?'

_'Heading home.'_

'I'll meet you there.'

_'Something's wrong?'_

'Nothing's wrong, you clotpole.' He crossed to the opposite side of the bridge through the gaps in traffic and narrowly missed a black cab. 'See you in forty?'

 _'Just ring when you get there and I'll come get you. Gwaine, will you piss off? Yes it's Merlin.'_ Arthur groaned over the line and Merlin smiled at the sound.  _'Gwaine wants to know if you've got an opinion on the Asprey case.'_

'Sorry, I haven't been paying a whole lot of attention to it,' he said as he meandered through the tourists and commuters. 

_'It's fine, I think Gwaine just misses you. Percy is off on a lead with Gwen and and I'm no fun apparently.'_

The smile broke out even more. 'You're plenty of fun.'

_'Tell him that. Anyway, I'll see you soon, Merlin. Glad you called.'_

'See you then,' he said and the call ended with an unwelcome beep of finality. Merlin pushed the mobile back into the leather jacket. Merlin had worn it so much he couldn't smell that strange minty scent that clung to it from time spent with Mordred. Not without magic, anyway. He buried himself further in it when he boarded the bus, standing wedged between suits and other colourless people. He concentrated on the cool touch of the metal bar he held onto with his right hand. The surface was smooth and gradually warmed. He leaned into it heavily and tried to watch the street through the wall of people. If he was leaving all of this tomorrow, leaving it all again, he was going to spend the night happy. Spend it with someone he'd been tied to by fate for centuries. He'd spend it with Arthur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two songs playing when Merlin is sat on the bench are "The Middle by Jimmy Eat World" and "Wonderwall by Ryan Adams".  
> Also back from university for the summer (first year completed yay :D), so there won't be another four/five month gap before the next chapter - it'll be up next week (I'm so sorry for the wait but education is always the priority :P)


	19. Bite

 

  With one final shove Arthur managed to get the last takeaway box wedged tightly but neatly in the bin. It was close, but the lid shut just fine and he puffed out the breath he'd held in. Why he bothered to clean up in the first place he couldn't understand, but Merlin hadn't wanted to come round for weeks. Merlin hadn't wanted to spend any real time alone with him in weeks. At least not time he actively sought out. 

  If that's what this even was. Maybe it was the final blow he’d had partly expected and fully dreaded. The 'I'm sorry, Arthur, but this isn't working' blow which had in effect already happened, even if it had happened slowly, painfully and very politely, to Merlin's credit. Either way, he had to make an effort not to appear the stressed, messy and generally ticked off guy he'd become.

  Arthur collapsed onto the sofa and ruffled his damp hair in a half-hearted attempt to dry it faster. The distant sound of traffic kept him sane as he tried to stop the negative thoughts. There was too much, so much that he could barely breathe half the time. A year earlier he didn't even know someone like Merlin existed. He didn't know about magic, didn't know about how much he could feel and not understand, didn't know about how complicated and generally screwed up the world was. He just hadn't known, and now that he did he'd been taking Diazepam most nights for the last five months. Something Merlin didn't know about. Was the bottle still on the nightstand?

  His mobile buzzed at him and shuffled across the coffee table with the vibrations. Merlin's picture popped up on the display. Shit. Arthur grabbed it and swiped answer as he went down to open the main door of the house.

'I'm coming,' he told him and hung up before Merlin could reply, or change his mind, or anything. When he swung the door open with a bit too much strength Merlin raised one of his eyebrows. Sunlight created different shades in his dark hair and lent an odd gravity to the lifted brow with the angled shadows that filled one side of his face. 

'Everything okay?' he asked and hovered outside in spite of the space left for him in the narrow hallway. 

  Arthur looked at him. He was dressed casually, black jeans and a light grey button-up shirt that fitted him closely under the leather jacket. He didn’t recognise the shirt, or the jacket. Arthur swallowed down the pang of a memory - the one where he’d never been surprised by what Merlin wore cause he’d seen it all before in their wardrobe. Surprises were all around now, of course. When his eyes reached Merlin’s face there was no smile, no frown. His expression was like one of those air brushed posters in airports and shops. You could see the model, admire them and get what they were promoting, but beyond the surface you couldn't tell a whole lot. 'Isn't that what I should ask you?'

'Go on, then,' Merlin said and tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, head cocked to the side slightly. His skin was too pale for the middle of summer, but there was something in the stare that dragged Arthur's attention away from his concern. Merlin didn't look particularly weak stood there with a glint in his eyes. It added a sharp and consuming edge to his gaze, as if he could see through him. See into him.

It was a strange look, and Arthur hesitated before he asked, 'Are you okay?'

'I will be.' Merlin came in and brushed past him, a ghost of a smile on his lips when he added, 'Thanks for asking.'

'Merlin,' Arthur started as he shut the front door, but the other man had already gone up the stairwell and into his flat. Part of him hated how dim the lighting in the hallway was. It made the journey back up feel ominous. Sliding his mobile onto the small table by the flat's door he closed that too. Merlin waited for him behind the sofa, one long arm outstretched so his fingers touched the top of the leather fabric with his jacket thrown onto a cushion. 'So?'

  Merlin seemed confused by his minimalistic approach to the situation and repeated, 'So?', with wary intonation. 

'So,' he drawled out, 'why did you want to meet me?'

  Merlin's eyes trailed up his body to his eyes, then higher. 'You showered.'

'You're being more of an idiot than usual,' Arthur said and watched the confused crease of a frown between his eyebrows smooth out at the relaxed tone. As much as he wanted to go back to that, go back to January before it all changed, they couldn't. It would be a lie. Part of him was definitely still pissed off, too. He sighed. 'Kilgharrah said we couldn't do anything, Merlin, and without your magic-'

'I don't want to talk about that now.'

  Arthur paused and eyed him. Merlin held his body differently. It wasn't as controlled as it had been the last few weeks. While the tiredness clung to his frame he didn't let it weigh him down like he had yesterday at Scotland Yard. God, he hated how ashen he’d looked in that fluorescent lighting. Hated how he’d pulled away. 'We have to talk about this stuff eventually.'

'I don't want to talk, Arthur,' Merlin continued and walked up to him slowly. The shock of his cold fingers as they ran up his jawline to the back of his neck made him draw in a sharp breath.

'You're freezing.'

'And you're hot,' he countered.

  That caught him off guard. Merlin leaned in, but the second warm breath hit his lips Arthur stepped back. He took the icy hand into his own and pulled it away. 

'What are you doing?'

  Merlin closed his eyes. 'Arthur. Please.'

'I don't understand,' he said. Weeks of distance, of minimal, if any, touching, and suddenly he wanted to kiss? Mordred, bastard that he was, had been kidnapped by a psycho witch, Morgana was in a prison cell, Vivian had been murdered and he wanted to kiss?

'You don't have to. Just,' Merlin stopped and opened his eyes again as he laced his cold fingers through Arthur's. 'Just this once, can you be the one to shut up?'

'Merlin-'

'Shut up,' he breathed and closed the gap. It was hot and soft. Arthur closed his eyes after a second. The heavy lids and dark lashes, joined with the warm breath that ran over face, left little in the way of resistance. He hadn't kissed him enough with everything that had happened. Hadn't felt him enough. Merlin's hand slipped out of his and both hands, now free, moved to rest on his hips. They pulled Arthur forward until they pressed against each other from thigh to chest.

  Arthur placed his hands on either side of Merlin's neck when the kiss deepened, tongue pressing into tongue before running against smooth teeth, then back again to the feathery lips. Merlin's jaw moved with enthusiasm and brushed down against the thumbs resting in the hollows of his neck. It wasn't right, though. This wasn't the Merlin from yesterday. Something wasn't okay. Arthur made to pull away. It was warm, it was wonderful, he loved him, but it wasn't right. 

  Merlin let out a low humming sound, a sound that verged on a growl, before he pulled his tongue back in to bite Arthur's bottom lip. His eyes flashed open at the sensation and he saw Merlin's furrowed brows, then felt Merlin use the new hostage to pull him back and he obliged the odd tugging motion. It didn't hurt, and the second he renewed the kiss all teeth snd growls were gone, replaced with the soft wet and generous attention paid to the wounded lip. The contented hum Merlin made into his mouth sparked a dense heat in his groin and he groaned. Rationally, it wasn't right. Emotionally, it was fucked up. Physically?

  Cold hands slipped up under his t-shirt. He shivered with the goosebumps that rose wherever Merlin explored and touched with light fingers. One motion of hands sweeping upwards and Arthur's shirt was tugged off over his head. It broke the kiss and his face burned, chest rising and falling with the full breaths he could now take.

'You bit me,' he accused breathlessly and Merlin smiled as he dropped the black t-shirt to the ground. Cool air hit his exposed skin, but he grew warm again when Merlin started to stare. Started to _touch_.

'It was a love-bite,' was all he said, and Arthur's breath hitched in his throat. 'You can't complain.'

'Merlin,' he started but lost grip on what he was going to say when fingers hooked under the waistband of his trousers and pulled him down the hall. Merlin walked backwards, not losing sight of Arthur once the whole journey. He looked straight into Merlin’s eyes. ‘I’m not sure this is the best time.'

  They were in his room now, the light still on from earlier. 'Remember what I said about shutting up?'

'We've never actually,' he trailed off and took a deep breath to fight off the heat of a blush which made him blush even harder. They'd never actually had sex. He'd never even slept with a guy. Not that he hadn't wanted to sleep with Merlin, but the time hadn't been right, then he’d disappeared. Things had kept getting in the way. 

'Don't worry. We can take it slow.' 

  When Merlin slipped the belt out from around his waist in a quick and controlled motion his stomach twisted. A wave of hot and cold nerves left him feeling like a bloody teenager again. 

'Why now?'

'Because.'

  Arthur scoffed before Merlin gave him a fast but surprisingly successful shove. He fell back onto the bed and propped himself up on his elbows to watch the other man lean down and press a kiss against his abdomen. Merlin's lips barely left his skin before the searing heat of a tongue pushed down against it and licked a hot and steady stripe up his stomach.

'Shit,' Arthur managed to say thickly. When Merlin chuckled in that throaty deep way, something he hadn't heard in months, Arthur squirmed. A hot, rather uncomfortable situation had developed in his trousers and Merlin balanced himself over Arthur with hands against his thighs for support. He'd trapped him there. The discomfort grew when Merlin climbed up on the bed, straddling his hips and placing too much weight on his lower half. By the smile on his face, Arthur guessed he felt what was going on beneath him.

  Merlin laced their hands together and pinned Arthur's arms above his head, the soft duvet moulding around them. Merlin bowed his head down until his breath filled Arthur's right ear. 

'You're beautiful, Arthur,' he said. Wet lips dragged along the skin before Merlin took his earlobe into his mouth and sucked. The queasy trails of nerves arched up along the back of Arthur's neck and he moaned. He instinctively lifted his hips, which Merlin promptly ground down, and then Merlin returned to his mouth. The kiss was different. Arthur couldn't do anything, hips and arms caught, as Merlin brought their lips together then pulled away. He was in complete control. The next time he dove down his tongue pushed into Arthur's mouth and his hips rose as if on cue. Merlin lifted himself up onto all fours so the motion couldn't reach him and he huffed into Merlin's mouth when he came down for another kiss. Arthur wanted his hands free, wanted to take Merlin's shirt off, then a lot more. His trousers had never felt this tight, this hot.

  Merlin was watching him when he climbed back out of his thoughts. Dark hair fell fluffed and messy over his forehead, and his lips were even pinker than before. Arthur couldn't think of anything to say. He could only stare, feel his heartbeat and the blood pump in his ears, in his groin. When Merlin bent down their noses touched and they continued to just stare, swapping heavy breaths. That was when Merlin let one of Arthur's pinned hands go free and stroked down his chest until he reached the ridiculously tight trousers.

  Arthur used his own free hand to tackle the horror of the buttoned shirt with clumsy fingers. He swore under his breath and Merlin angled downwards to kiss his neck, then suck, then bite. The biting was back. The scrape of teeth combined with the sucking had his eyes squeezed shut and head tipped backwards. It lasted only a second though, as Merlin pulled back with a wet smack, having successfully handled the button and zipper of his trousers with the one hand. Arthur's own hand had found itself in the mess of thick hair, fingers tangled and pulling at it. It felt empty when Merlin climbed back off the bed.

  Propped up on his elbows, Arthur watched Merlin slide his trousers, boxers included, down to his ankles. How he managed to get his socks off so fast was beyond him, but he stopped caring when Merlin toed off his own shoes and unzipped the jeans. They were off in seconds and Arthur's heart thumped at an odd tempo when Merlin crawled back over him. 

  He finally had the sense to shift further up the bed and another hot blush washed over his face when he realised how exposed he was. Completely naked, very hot, ridiculously hard, and Merlin hovering just inches away breathing with that dark look in his eyes. The blush caught Merlin's attention, and his cool hands found Arthur's face to lift it and catch his lower lip between his teeth. The firm, threatening pressure of the bite loosened as Merlin leaned back again, dragging the lip out before he let it go. _Shit_. 

  Merlin definitely knew what he was doing, and several thoughts flitted across Arthur's head. Did he bite everyone? Had he been with a lot of guys before? Merlin reached up and started undoing the buttons of his shirt, sitting back on his heels as he did so. He kept himself perfectly balanced with legs splayed wide open and pressed against either side of Arthur's waist. Such an unashamed display, the sound of their breaths, pulled him back into the moment and the thought of lifting his hips again became too viable an option. He waited, though, and met Merlin's gaze as he reached the half-way point of the procession. He was doing it slowly. The idiot was doing it slowly on purpose. Heat buzzed in Arthur's head, flooded his groin, and Merlin's occasional glances down did more than they should have.

'Merlin,' Arthur warned. Merlin smirked at him then slid the shirt off from his shoulders to throw it off to the side. His hands moved to the newly exposed slim waist, felt the muscle under the soft skin, and he sat up properly to breathe in the warm smell of his chest. He seemed to have lost any nerves about never having been with another guy when he'd lost his underwear. Now he just _wanted_.

  Merlin tried to push him back down, but Arthur caught one of his nipples and Merlin made such an ungodly noise he almost came right then. He tested it out for a few seconds and listened to Merlin react to certain swipes of his tongue, or the graze of his teeth. Hands pulled painfully at his hair and Arthur fell back onto the duvet to see the tent in Merlin's dark blue boxers.

'Good?' he breathed out at Merlin, unable to hide his smile. Even though he nodded, something dark flashed across his face. For a second it looked like pain, but the smirk was back the next second and then he had to think about a very invasive kiss. It choked off his breath and his heart jumped with terror, excitement, but he accepted and sank into it as he blindly explored Merlin's body. His hands reached the waistband of the boxers when Merlin ground his hips down against Arthur's. 

  The warmth and friction of the cotton fabric coaxed a stifled moan out of him. Merlin's mouth captured the noise and before he could progress any further with the underwear, Merlin's missing hand stroked the skin just above the very hot, very developed situation between his legs. It was taunting, playful, and down right mean. It was nothing compared to what it felt like when Merlin actually did touch him the next second. His hips took on a life of their own and jerked up again. The sudden movement caught Merlin off guard and he made another low sound in the back of his throat that sent shivers through Arthur's body. This was it. He had to decide if he'd just let it go, if he'd just shut up for once and let this happen. Maybe it wasn't perfect, the timing, situation, all of it. It was Merlin, though. That was enough.

  Arthur rolled him over and got a surprised noise from Merlin at the motion and at his determination to get his underwear off the next second.

'You're okay with this?' Merlin asked. His voice sounded strangely raw and vulnerable with those thick eyebrows gently pushed together in question. Arthur had gotten his fingers hooked securely under the waistband at that point but paused to move up and press a soft kiss to Merlin's lips.

'You're the most beautiful man I've ever known,' Arthur said against his mouth and pulled back to smile down at him. 'Now, tell me what feels good, alright?'

  Merlin grinned at him. That weird look passed over his face again and Arthur was about to ask but he was cut off when Merlin leaned up into his ear and whispered, 'Yes, sire.'

  Arthur's smile stretched out wider and he moved back down to slide the boxers from Merlin's legs without a second thought. Merlin looked at him darkly as he shifted back and Arthur's breath hitched when they pressed against one another. Another undignified groan rolled out of his throat.

  The way they touched each other, gave in to the pleasure and tested the constantly changing authority made it hard to tell how, exactly, certain sounds and sensations came about. Arthur didn't care about time, about anything besides Merlin's panting and the various ways he could feel his body. From the breathless way he said 'Arthur', which he'd figured out meant he was doing something good, to the occasional chuckle followed by a 'prat', which meant Merlin felt impatient and usually took over at that point, Arthur had never experienced him so completely and honestly. Had never experienced _anyone_ so utterly.

  They eventually lost the ability to form coherent words altogether and Arthur buried himself in Merlin's teasing, relentless, touches. It was long, repeated, tried differently, and veered from playful to outright desperate need.

  It well past midnight when Arthur held Merlin securely against his chest with the smell of sex clinging to the air, thick and sweet. It had grown lighter since they'd finally given up and collapsed together to sleep away the rest of the night, but Arthur could still taste it with each lungful.

  Their legs were tangled together under the crumpled white sheet, duvet discarded after it got in the way a few too many times. The bedroom light's soft glow shone in contrast to the deep blue night outside the window. Part of him wanted to shut it off, but Merlin's breath chased along his skin in a regular pattern with one long arm rested across his stomach. He'd fallen asleep shortly after their last 'session', not that Arthur could blame him, and the thought of disturbing him for the sake of a light was painful. His own muscles protested most movements as well, and the dull ache wasn't getting any better. His prostate was something he hadn't really thought a lot about, and he regretted the last few years he'd failed to discover it. Then again, it was Merlin that really made any of it possible. Without him in the equation, he couldn't see himself caring a whole lot about it, let alone about men in general. Merlin was just different. Perfect.

  Arthur's knuckles brushed against the sheet that covered them both waist down as he stroked his fingers lazily up and down Merlin's lower back. He studied what he could: first the slight curl to his hair, then the eyelashes that rested against his skin. How his lips were dry, but pink and wet where they parted. How he'd grown a dusting of scratchy stubble that gave his pale complexion a starkness that suited him too well.

  He curled his arm around Merlin's warm waist and turned into his thick hair. Arthur breathed him in and closed his eyes against the light to settle into the embrace. He'd never been into cuddling, it had always felt odd and unnecessary, but Merlin threw that all out the window. He made it feel good, like there was nothing else he should be doing, nothing else he should ever do. As if they were meant to be like that forever: tangled up, exhausted and together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't had Arthur's perspective in a while and thought this was something to experience from him his POV - sorry if it isn't very event filled, but the big drama is on the way and this was important for plot/Arthur/Merlin so yeah :) There are several more chapters in this part of the series but it is drawing to a close (sort of) - so my best estimate would be less than ten chapters, more than three - if that helps? ^_^


	20. Dragon Fire

 Arthur stared up at the ceiling and tried to ignore the annoying ticking of the wall clock. As if he needed to be reminded of the time every second. It was 12:57pm, soon 12:58pm, and each tick felt needlessly self-celebratory. His neck craned back a little too far but he liked how tight and stretched it made his throat feel. The ceiling tiles were made of a boring white material and had little holes that held some purpose he didn't understand. The Commissioner's office was underwhelming, the chair uncomfortable, and Arthur couldn't decide how he felt. Irritation was dominant, and a man in his position knew that he should feel quite happy, relaxed, given last night, but Morgana's keen stare had snipped off any of those nicely budding flowers. 

 Merlin's disappearance while he slept hadn't helped either. Waking up alone was the last thing he'd expected, especially given how much what they had done meant to him. Anxiety at whether it meant anything to Merlin had come, settled, and burrowed deep into his head and chest. At that point he was nauseous with the fear and confusion. 

'Not going to talk to me?' she asked, perfectly at ease in spite of the officer posted outside the door as a guard. The handcuffs waited with them as well. Arthur's heart had twinged a little when he saw her walk in bound by the metal, but he kept himself steeled by drilling in the memory of that gunshot during the Christmas holidays. His throat, some part of it, still felt raw with how he'd screamed out Merlin's name. It had all gotten so fucked up, he felt and thought about that all the time, and he just wanted to be done with it. He wanted to know where he stood, where they all stood.  

 He dropped his head back down to face forward. 'Nope.'

'Is Merlin's coming?'

'Should be.'

'Arthur.' The weight she put behind his name almost threw him back to the years before he left for university and the academy. How he'd play the music too loudly while he trained in the mansion's gym and she'd storm in with her frown, her hands on hips, to complain. Always, always, he'd turn it down at her request. Now, though, he doubted he'd even care. They weren't teenagers anymore. They weren't those people anymore. 'I'm trying to help.'

 He looked at her at last. 'I wish you wouldn't. It'd make things simpler.'

 The door clicked open and Arthur got to his feet as the Commissioner entered.

'DS Pendragon,' the older man acknowledged with a nod of his head. 'Miss La Fey.'

'Commissioner,' she said as she stood.

'Please, sit down, this shouldn't take too long. I've asked you here for clarification more than anything. The last year has been tumultuous, to say the least, and the Metropolitan Police need to remain a united front. The protection of our citizens is the priority, and we shouldn't be running around in confusion or mistrust because of our own people.'

 Arthur settled down, prepared for the speech. 

'Now, Morgana, you will be facing court in a few weeks time, and as the proceedings go ahead you will be held on remand in HM Prison Holloway, but given recent accusations and its inevitable closure you will likely be relocated once the court comes to a ruling.'

'Sorry if I sound insulting, Commissioner,' she said and Arthur narrowed his eyes at her, 'but why are you involved in this? It's below your station and your pay grade.'

'That should tell you something, shouldn't it? We can't afford for this to continue. You are perhaps the greatest embarrassment our police force has experienced in this century, and I want to make the situation clear,' he said. Arthur composed himself and hid the flinch when those brown eyes rested on him with the word _embarrassment_. 'You will be held in Holloway until further notice. As for you DS Pendragon, my hands are tied. You will either hand over your resignation letter, find yourself transferred out of the CID or take an extended, perhaps permanent, leave until another solution can be found. The public's trust, and my trust, in you has wavered too much in the last few weeks. The absence of your partner in crime is a statement to my cause for concern. Have any idea where DS Emrys is?'

'No,' Arthur said and pressed his lips together. He could still feel the heat of Merlin's breath in his ear, against his neck, the way he'd traced his fingers across his warm skin. It was softer than anything he'd felt before, and he owned Egyptian cotton sheets, so he was downright offended that Merlin left. He knew where Merlin had been. Now he was left clueless just like before. 

'Your team was the best, Arthur, the best this city had seen in decades. Whatever changed that, I hope you can address it and present me with something to rectify this mess. Now, the Home Secretary has decided to drop their investigation into DS Emrys, and Bayard has been reassigned at my request. Think of it as a trust exercise. Operation Nova is no longer your responsibility and if you keep yourselves together and prove my concerns unnecessary I will do my best to keep you all in Scotland Yard.'

'Thank you, Commissioner.' 

'You and DS Emrys will be given unpaid leave, starting next week and the rest of your team will be designated to the work forces that need them most. We're stretched thin as ever,' the Commissioner continued with a fixed and hard stare. 

'Thank you for not letting my actions impact my team,' Arthur said, the words stiff even though his gratitude was genuine.

'The interviews will go ahead, and you and Merlin will be called in when your turn comes,' he said, paused, and Arthur saw something cross over the Commissioner's face. 'Have any of you seen or heard from DC Leir?'

'Mordred?'

'Yes, he was supposed to give a full report on the Old Religion case yesterday.'

'No, I haven't, but I'm sure he's just taking time to work through what happened.'

 The Commissioner hummed in response.

'Is there anything else, sir?'

'No, you're excused,' he said and got up to knock at the door. The guard posted there came in and gestured to Morgana to get up. Arthur decided to wait for her to leave, but when he stood and stepped out of the way for the proceedings to go ahead he frowned.

'What is it, Morgana?'

 Her eyes were blown wide when she looked at him with her eyebrows pushing into each other angrily. 

'Morgana?' he said again when she failed to move, speak, blink.

 A strange choked-off breath escaped at last. 'Merlin-'

'What about him?'

'He's,' she started but her eyes grew distant and a tongue of golden light lashed out in her eyes to then wrap around her irises and choke out the green-blue. Arthur shifted quickly to hide it from the guard and the Commissioner. He leaned forward over her.

'DS Pendragon,' he heard the Commissioner start but he cut him off the only way he could think to.

'She's having a panic attack.'

'She's what?'

'She's having a panic attack,' he snapped and tried to hide the wince at his own lie. 'Get out. Now.'

'Arthur.'

'Either you leave or I leave with her,' he snapped and faced the older man. 'Which would you prefer, sir?'

'Officer Hanbury,' the Commissioner said, the guard nodding and heading away. Arthur turned back to Morgana and heard the office door click shut. The far away look consumed her face, and when he put his hand against her cheek it was sticky with cold sweat.

'Morgana, talk to me. What's happening?'

'Merlin,' she hissed, tears welling up in her eyes. Arthur's stomach dropped and his hands turned cold.

'What about him, Morgana?' he asked, sternly and controlled.

 She looked at him with her burning eyes. 'I think he's dying.'

 The gunshot sounded off in his head and Arthur couldn't breathe with the weight that crashed into it. Was he having a panic attack now? Before he could ask her anything else she shot up and forced him to jump backwards. Morgana ran to the door and he followed her, tried to grab her when she threw the door open but she was too fast. Hanbury, the Commissioner, none of them caught her as she spritned to the stairwell. Arthur took the lead in chasing her down, convinced she was using magic to stop the officers from successfully grabbing her. 

 His feet hit the steps with too much force, the vibrations running painfully up his calves as he jumped whole sections of stairs at a time. Once he used his shoulder to hit open the emergency exit into the open air he was panting hard and could hear a barrage of policemen following close behind. He saw her turn ahead out of the side car park and he followed, almost running into her when he rounded the corner. She caught him, balanced him, eyes panicked and soaking wet. Arthur followed Morgana's stare, forgot how to breathe for a second time, then ran forward. 

 

* * *

 

 Merlin's gaze grew unfocused. The black letters and numbers on the bright screen blurred. Odd patterns emerged between the lines of text: Spaces aligned diagonally with more spaces, vowels rounded off with other vowels, consonants that cut through the soft and rounded consistency of the vowels. The texts made his stomach twist with the strange familiarity, and then the current time made it twist with a sadistic intention. 

12:58pm. 

 It all looked the same as when he texted Gwen, Arthur, Gwaine. Only he hadn't had the chance to talk to them on Arthur's gifted phone, so the only conversation the mobile would remember would be those with the reporter, the Witchfinder, hunter. That and the texts Arthur had sent him that morning, the ones he hadn't responded to. 

 

 Aredian Carr: _Scotland Yard. 1pm. Pleased to see you've made the right decision. Don't be late._

 Sent at 11:37pm.

 

 He could have been arranging a coffee meeting, an interview, hell the meeting with the Commissioner, or something equally mundane. Instead it was his . . . his what? Sacrifice, murder, suicide, defeat, acceptance, death, fate, destiny . . . Nothing suited it. Words didn't work like they should anymore, and Merlin's throat was too dry no matter how many times he swallowed. It wasn't enough. He didn't want to. He wanted to crawl back into that bed with Arthur, his King, his detective, and curl up next to him and sleep. Merlin wanted to wake up and make scrambled eggs and coffee with him. He didn't want to leave before the six o'clock alarm, sneak on his clothes and leave the Kensington flat to write out his best attempt at a will and testament, his best attempt at a confession. An apology. God, he had no idea what it was, but the most important thing was an explanation for Arthur and the Knights. He'd left it on the counter in his kitchen, so they'd find it when they cleared out his flat.

 If only Aredian could fall out of a tower again. That would make his day.   

'Emrys.'

 The low and controlled voice dragged his gaze up from the phone. He tucked it into his pocket. 

'Aredian,' he said, trying to keep his face composed, to keep his heart rate calm. It didn't work. The exhaustion from his connection to Mordred did wonders to make him seem tired and bored at least, although more ill than he'd like to appear. The film of sweat that clung to his skin was cold and hot at the same time, and the sunlight, while filtered through a heavy layer of clouds, still felt to invasive and sharp. Like the too strong coffee Arthur made for him and the Knights when they worked late. He'd never taste it again. Merlin frowned at the thought.

'No second thoughts, I hope?'

 He focused on Aredian again, how smartly the man was dressed. That suit was designer, and tailored. The term 'underdressed' couldn't cover the odd sensation that passed through Merlin. He'd worn jeans and a button-up shirt, nothing grand. He didn't know how to feel or how to think. 'None. You leave them all alone and alive. You leave London.'

'Agreed,' Aredian said with a closed-lip smile and held out his hand. Merlin took it and held it for a second before he let go. A breeze passed between them and shifted the hair on his forehead, tickled him slightly, and Aredian's grey eyes remained locked on him. 'You don't mind my choice of location or time?'

'I'm missing a meeting with the Commissioner right now. Nothing important,' he replied, unsure why he bothered to tell him at all. Merlin checked his watch. 'It started two minutes ago. As for location, well, you said you liked spectacle.'

 They were in front of the square building, right by the large New Scotland Yard sign. Traffic and passers by surrounded them. Merlin didn't want to think too hard on what Aredian's plan was or how he expected to kill him with such a large and varied audience. A small twisted curiosity couldn't help but want to find out, to know. The curiosity that always spurred him along in murder investigations.

'Fascinating,' Aredian said, almost mumbled.

'What is?'

'You.'

 Merlin's frown deepened. 

'Just do it,' he finally said, impatient, angry, scared. 

 Aredian smiled. 'Eager are we?'

'Do,' he said, slowly and clearly, 'It.'

 Aredian stepped up to him and Merlin's limbs became airy with nerves and feather-light cold fear. He held his ground though, considered texting Arthur something, but he couldn't. He wouldn't do that to Arthur, wouldn't be that person. Who the fuck texts the person they love right before the die? Arthur knew he loved him. He'd understand why he had to do this. He had to. 

 Merlin felt Aredian's hands reach up and grab hold of his neck. They were cold, smooth, and tightened around his throat, a thumb digging into each side. 

 No one batted an eye. At least a hundred people around and they did nothing. Maybe this was another side to Witchfinder powers? Merlin couldn't look anywhere except into Aredian's hard glare. The void, the iciness, creeped into him again and made him shiver. His breaths grew faster and he pressed his lips together when Aredian's hold of him tightened and his breaths laboured against the sudden constriction. Blood felt hotter, his face burned, and when his breaths couldn't scrape through anymore the heat sparked in his chest. Merlin's hands went up to grab Aredian's forearms, knuckles white with the strain as his body was hit wave by wave with heat, blood pounding in his ears and behind his eyes. 

 Aredian didn't say anything when Merlin tried to push him away, he just tightened his hold. No one cared. He could see them walk by on their phones, talking to each other, some even glanced over, and no one cared. Aredian's hands started to feel like knives around his neck, their grip tight and sharp as they cut into him. The hot pain made his eyes tear up and his eyebrows dug down across to try and reach each other in a frown of panic.

 He'd wanted to do this, he'd wanted to save them all, but he couldn't. He didn't want to die. Not now. Not yet. Not again. 

 Merlin wasn't strong enough to pull away though, and when he struck out at Aredian it felt like a python twisting around him, thick and coiled and relentless. The twisting broke through whatever protection his body had, like throwing a spear through the thin sheet of ice which covered a frozen over lake in winter. It sent cracks through his surface and the void latched onto his magic, the pain that followed making him want to scream only no sound came out.

 Merlin hated them all. Hated everyone who didn't seem to care that he was being killed. He wanted Arthur to live, but he didn't want to die. He shifted his body weight, tried to drop to the ground, kicked, scratched, but Aredian didn't let go and the spear had gone into him, had gone into the water and hit him. 

 Merlin's vision swam, this time not from tears, and black blotches sprung up like those dark and slimy fish in the lake, down where no one was supposed to go. They crossed his vision, obscured Aredian's poised and unflinching features, and grew larger as his limbs grew numb. The water was around him, pressed against him, slipped cold and burning into his mouth, up his nose and soaked through his skin. His heartbeat was getting lazier, worn out by the panicked pace it had kept up until then. Heavy and languid its beats came a second later each time. 

 He was pinned there by the spike jammed into his chest. He couldn't see anything, and the water wouldn't let him leave, swim away. It was killing him, drowning him, the spear that let his strength leak out like blood. It was darker than the water, Merlin could see it float up like ink around him, it was darker than the strange creatures there. He'd bleed out if he didn't drown first. He couldn't stop it, couldn't hold his breath anymore. He had to let the water in. Merlin closed his eyes, opened his mouth and breathed in the lake water. For a second nothing happened, something strained against his throat, but soon it came into his lungs and stomach like dragon fire, filled him to the brim and he spilled over with it. He connected it, the changed and hot fire water inside with the cold and bloodied lake water outside. He became them. No ending or beginning, he already had both and neither.

 Merlin opened his eyes and saw himself there, hands around his neck, eyes golden and cut through by long irises. He looked into them, into himself, the moment caught in that lake like ice. The hole in chest still bled, the spear still made it feel oddly full and empty at the same time. He concentrated on that. On the invasion, on the pain in his core. Saw it in his eyes, in the expression, the wet cheeks. Saw it in the lake water that clung to his hair and the blood at the corner of his mouth. That mouth moved, revealed the blood coated teeth, and he heard himself say, slowly and clearly, 'Do it.'

 The pain in his chest drew itself out, each inch left him gritting his teeth harder, and then he did it. He saw it. The spear filled his other chest, the chest of the other him who's grip around his neck slackened in response. He seemed bewildered, then the reptile eyes hazed over, and Merlin knew this version of himself could feel the water, the lake fire. He knew it was killing him, not saving him, as it left his own chest to enter the other, sucked out of him like the blood from a paper cut.

 Those reptile eyes turned cold and grey, his bones shifted under the pale skin which darkened with years of sun he'd never been touched by. Aged and changed Merlin saw Aredian in front of him, bloody mouthed and dying. At last his hands left his throat and Merlin took in a breath of the warm air, coughing with it as his head pounded.

 People gasped, pointed, took out their phones. Aredian crumpled down to the ground and Merlin's own legs gave way as his lungs fought and struggled to get oxygen again. Hands pulled at him and tugged him up against a chest, an arm secured around his own chest, the other on his head. Merlin let his head fall back against their shoulder and turned into their neck as his breaths started to finally come without the pain from before. It was still hard though, and his head spun with the oxygen deprivation.

'Are you okay?'

 Merlin looked up at a slightly fuzzy Arthur, who's concerned look grew worse when he stared back.

'Your eyes, Merlin, they're-'

'I don't really care right now,' he said to cut him off, or tried to say. It sounded hoarse and he coughed too much to know if Arthur had really heard him, but it did shut him up. The pain in his chest was practically gone, and when he looked at the motionless body of the Witchfinder, the body a Uniform was currently prodding, he couldn't help but feel grateful. There weren't any spears, they were both bone dry, and there wasn't any blood. He would have been worried, if Arthur weren't holding him and telling him an ambulance is on the way. That made him want to laugh, but the pain around his throat was very real. He could heal it himself, the fire inside very alive and well, but they had a crowd at that point. 

 Merlin closed his eyes and took Arthur's hand, held it tightly, and tried not to break down with the shock of whatever the hell had just happened. The sirens soon arrived, and he was put on a stretcher. Arthur held his hand the whole time into the back of the ambulance. The fire, the magic, thrummed through his body the whole time.

_Merlin?_

 The voice made him jerk a little, and a paramedic promptly kept him still and pulled an oxygen mask down over his face as he checked his neck and asked Arthur questions. The lights were fluorescent and when the back doors slammed shut sirens started up again and he felt the initial inertia.

_Mordred? Where are you? Are you safe?_

 His thoughts were strangely clear, and the oxygen being forced into his lungs was a welcome relief that washed out the murk of the lake, whatever that had been. Merlin couldn't concentrate on the voices and sounds around him, so closed his eyes on the bright lights to experience the connection with Mordred again in peace.

_Now I am. Whatever you did, my magic is coming back. I think it is anyway._

 Mordred's voice was soothing, like putting on an old jumper you'd lost and then found years later.

_Nimueh took you?_

_She's coming back soon. I don't think I can escape without one of us dying._

 Merlin held Arthur's warm hand a little tighter, and he received a reassuring squeeze in return. 

_I know. It's okay, Mordred. Just get away and get here. Stay alive._

_Don't plan on doing anything else, and you too._

_Me too?_

_Stay alive, Merlin._

_Always._


	21. Vanish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of heavy, at least it felt heavy when I wrote it, just a warning. And I just want to thank you for the wonderful reviews and kudos :) They're amazing to read and make the story feel more alive :D

 Mordred pulled back from the connection with Merlin and the cave's darkness pressed against him harder. It wanted to remind him of what he'd been through, wanted to keep him there compliant and trapped, wanted to shout at him for breaking the mug, for forgetting to take out the rubbish, for not doing his homework fast enough. He took in a long, cold breath. He wasn't there. He hadn't been there in over seven years. It was in the past, and the past couldn’t hurt him if he didn’t let it.

 His is skin itched with a warmth both familiar and unfamiliar. The magic was sharp and uneven in his veins after such a long absence. He'd given up guessing how long he'd been there. The heat that surged through him minutes earlier had sent a wild fire through the Baker's house and forced him to run. The second he had stepped across that threshold it had all crashed inwards and he had jerked alert and awake back in the cave. Mordred knew he wasn't entirely stable, knew that he'd never be with the messed up psychological development he'd had, but going full swing into a delusion, a hallucination, was a shock. A terrifying one. A painful reminder. It had felt as real as the rock, as real as the strange iron cuffs that weighed down on his wrists and ankles. 

 Whether he'd been physically chained up from the start was another uncomfortable blur, a blank and confused space in his memory. It didn't matter now though. He wasn't in the Baker's house, they couldn't keep him there, here. Nimueh couldn't. Merlin's voice in his head ran over the past, licked away the sounds of shouts, of breaking glass and those nights spent crying. It licked and licked with a heat that scorched everything raw and all Mordred knew was that he had to stay alive, he had to get away and get here. There. He had to get there, wherever here, wherever there, was. He had to go.

 Mordred forced himself onto his knees and ignored the pain from the rock which refused to yield beneath the bone and skin. The chain links hit each other and made a low and heavy sound in the otherwise silent and howling air. 

 He stared through the poor, nearly absent light, to make out the oval metal pieces that hung dark against the shadows and the cave. The heat under his skin wasn't comfortable, and his eyes stung as he tried to pull on it, tried to tug it to the surface. He pictured the house, how it burned to the ground, how Merlin's words felt in his head and the welcome but painful ache they had left. He pictured the chains breaking, felt the heat, willed it to happen. It had to. He had to get away. 

 Mordred held his breath and clenched his teeth, eyes squeezed shut as he kept imagining it, as he saw the chains break. The magic burned heavy and oily like wax, but the chains were still there. They weren't going away. He was trapped. Mordred tried again. A strangled and panicked cry escaped when it didn't work a second time. 

_Get away and get here. Stay alive._  

 He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. A new warmth seeped into his fingertips. It tingled, tickled, and when he opened his eyes he saw the palms of his hands shining red with a phantom fire. Mordred clasped them around the chains, then the cuffs, and felt the hard, cold, metal turn gooey and malleable in his hands like dough. 

 This magic wasn't entirely his. The presence of someone else, the touch of their hands over his own as he worked away at the metal, comforted and calmed him. He knew who it was and while resistant to it at first, he was still too weak, so he accepted her help and used the cave wall as support when he got up to his feet. His legs shook slightly, and his vision blanked for several seconds, head pounding with the rush before it adjusted.

 With Merlin's voice in his head and Morgana's magic cradled around him like a second skin he made his way to the exit. The main cave led into a thinner corridor which he followed it carefully with his hand outstretched to run along the uneven and dry rock. It curved around to the right until it ended with a wall of empty space and wind. Mordred squinted against the flat grey light and breathed in the ice threaded air. He shivered as the elements worked their way into the mountain and into him as he stood looking over the edge. He had to Vanish, but he could barely stand and the magic wasn't returning fast enough. The wind blew wet ice and rain into him. It soaked through the soiled suit he'd worn the night of the BBC interview, a night which no longer felt real. 

 Mordred heard the odd ruffle behind him, distinct from the howling winds and crashing sheets of rain in its touch of heat and magic, and turned to it with relief. 

 'Plan on jumping?' Nimueh asked him with her lips curled up in an amused smile. The relief fell through him and tore away the warmth. He steadied himself on the wall of the cave, too aware that he only had two feet of rock behind him. 'I thought you'd cracked, but yet again you prove me wrong. Was that an act too? You're very good at lying. Go on, give me one last lie.'

 Mordred saw the dagger in her hand, the blade catching the rain with a strange amber current that rippled along the metal. 

 'You want to kill me,' he said. The magic slumped in his body. 

 She rested the tip of the blade against her other hand's palm and lifted one neatly plucked eyebrow. 'Was that the lie? I suppose it could be, after all I don't want to kill you, but I do need to sacrifice you. Semantics, right? It’s for the greater good, you know how it goes. Sacrifice you, return magic to the people, and then we take this world back. We show the twenty first century what they’ve been missing out on.’

 'And if I jump?'

 'I'll stop you,' she said. Her eyes moved between him and the area behind, almost daring him to try it. 'Magic's helpful like that.'

 Mordred's teeth chattered and he tried to lock them together but the cold was persistent. Two stubborn forces pitted against each other. Mordred wondered which would break first: Him or the weather.

 'We need to go to the mountain’s peak. It'll expose you more, which will make the spell more effective. It's a few hours still until I need to use this though,' she explained calmly and gestured to the knife, 'so you have time to prepare yourself in your newfound lucidity.'

 Mordred stepped backwards. His heartbeat jumped and throat tightened. 'I'd rather not.'

 The gold erupted in Nimueh's eyes as her expression darkened. Her magic reached out towards him but he stepped back again and the soles of his feet felt the end of the eyrie. There was enough magic to stop her from stopping him, but not enough to Vanish, and not enough to save himself from that kind of fall. There would be more magic, though. He just had to bide his time. Stay alive, that's what Merlin told him. 

 When she felt the challenge to her own magic, Nimueh started for him and Mordred held his breath before taking another step. Her hand grabbed at his tie and jerked him away from the edge, but his bare feet slipped on the wet rock and Mordred fell. His stomach hit the eyrie's edge and forced the air from his lungs. Nimueh's magic caught him in the distraction and brought him back onto solid ground, one arm wrapped liked a vice around his chest and the knife's edge pressed cold against his throat. 

 'Don't do that again,' she hissed into his ear, and Mordred reached up to wrap his hands around the blade and force it away from his throat. It stung and cut into him with the enchanted metal. It was hot with magic and blood, but Mordred kept hold of it and fought against Nimueh's attempts hold on him long enough to duck out of her grip and kick her hard. The force pushed him back to the wet ground beside the fall and she fell back into the corridor. 

 'Mordred,' a new voice blurted and he looked up to see Morgana materialise, her hair loose and blown back from her face with the wind. 'I found you.'

 A smile broke out on her face and she went towards him but stopped when he called over the wind to warn about Nimueh who had gotten back to her feet. When she looked Nimueh had already aimed a hand at her and magic whipped out of her palm. Morgana caught it in time and countered with a spell of her own and a strange collision of air screeched out in the space between them. Mordred sheltered his face from the violent clash with one arm, blood running down his raised wrist and forearm from the fresh and deep gash. 

 When he next looked Nimueh had pushed Morgana against the cave wall with an enchantment and avoided falling rocks with a predatory speed. Morgana's golden eyes were trained on each piece that made a deadly attempt to hit her attacker, but her own struggle against the magic threw her aim off. He got to his feet and pushed out with whatever magic he had to help her, and a dark piece of the wall struck out, blown out of the rock like a piece of a broken ceramic mug. It cut Nimueh across the side of her head and she cried out. Her hand flew out to the side. A blow rammed into Mordred's chest. 

 His wet hand slipped on the wall as he tried to grab something, anything, but he'd already lost his footing. The initial drop made his stomach lurch, but he caught onto the cave's floor with his arms and clung to it with everything he had, body hanging down over the edge. His head spun with the exertion and got worse with the deafening, drowning, wind that battered him from all sides.

 'Mordred!' he heard Morgana call out, and he used his feet to try and find some hold, something he could push up from. It was all too wet and his bare toes couldn't find a safe hold. Morgana had stopped her attempt to get to him when Nimueh's attacks took on a new urgency and he saw fire, ice and rock all shatter and crash into the other. Blood pounded in his head, seeped out of his palms and into the puddle that formed from the uneven rock’s surface. Mordred kept trying, slipped, tried again, and watched as Morgana quickly avoided the knife Nimueh jabbed at her. 

 The struggle blurred and the knife disappeared into Morgana's side. Another wave of magic crashed in the confined space and Morgana had a hold of the blade. She swiped it viciously to the right, a controlled and powerful strike, and Nimueh collapsed with an open neck. Morgana dropped it and Mordred shouted her name. She didn't look at him, her body swayed, and his breaths grew panicked and rapid when she stumbled backwards towards him. 

 She went too far, too fast, and the dark stain spreading across her t-shirt told him why. Mordred threw his arm out to catch her, fed all his strength and magic into the movement, but she was too far away by several inches and all the magic did was tug at her slightly. It wasn't enough. It didn’t feel real, Nimueh’s throat cut open like that, the way Morgana’s body moved. He watched with horror as she blew over the edge and into the storm all in a manner of seconds. Her small dark figure was folded away by the clouds and hidden by rain as it ran into his eyes. He didn't know where she'd gone. Mordred looked back at Nimueh's body. Her eyes were wide open and faced nothing, held no expression. Empty.

 Before his left arm gave way Mordred swung over his right again for support, the failed right arm, and counted out his breaths, ignored the salty, metallic, taste the rain left in his mouth. He timed each one, ignored the pain, the cold, and tried to pull himself up. The attempt was wasted, and when he stopped tensing his muscles the sudden relaxation let his legs dip back down with a little too much force. 

_Stay alive._

 Mordred knew he wouldn't get another chance when his grip slipped. This was it. He had to choose. Mordred pressed the soles of his feet against the side of the rock and brought his knees in close. With a sharp intake of breath he pushed off. The moment of weightlessness, with nothing to support him beside the wind,made took his breath away. It stretched out and around. That moment was endless and smooth in the air like the surface of a lake. Sounds warped into a strange white noise then silence, even when the strong current of air and gravity latched onto him. Mordred started to fall. 

_Get here._

 His body was free, relaxed, as it tumbled down through the clouds, the storm. Mordred closed his eyes on the grey and concentrated on his connection with Merlin again, supported by the silence of the lake. He heard his voice, felt his touch, his warmth, his magic. Mordred held onto it and pulled on the magic again. No excuses, no choice, no time. This was it. He fell. He thought about Merlin. He breathed in Merlin's smell and the salty wet air that rushed around him. The raindrops started to fall through him. One, another, then several more. Their cold pattering touch turned ghostly and disappeared altogether. Mordred Vanished. 

 The impact was soft, quiet, and enveloped him. Mordred breathed heavily, still shaking from the adrenaline, and looked around. He didn't recognise the room or the bed he'd landed on. Then he spotted the jacket. His jacket. It was hung up behind the door next to a few other jackets and coats he could distantly recall. It nudged him, reminded him, and his breathing calmed when he realised it was Merlin's bedroom.

 The light was off but dim sunlight shone through the window on his left. He sat up and the burning in his palms dragged his attention away from his surroundings. They were bleeding badly and Mordred forced himself up to search for first aid. His feet slipped slightly on the wooden floor, and his hair and clothes dripped rainwater as he searched the dressing table then the wardrobe. He left a wet trail everywhere he looked, from little spots of water on handles to wet footprints barely visible on the ground. His magic wouldn't heal the wounds, he could barely think straight, but he found a green bag from St John Ambulance in the bottom of the wardrobe. Messily emptying its contents onto the floor he grabbed sterilising wipes, ripped the packaging open with his teeth, and started shakily cleaning and dressing the wounds.

 Mordred's head ached, his whole body did, and once he'd secured the bandages he crawled back to the bed and hoisted himself up onto it. While he was soaked and shivering it didn’t seem to matter when the exhaustion caught up to him. He worked his way up to the pillow and he forgot how to think, how to feel. Mordred's wet face finally pressed down into the fabric and, keeping his bandaged hands cradled in front of his chest, he forgot about the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first part of a chapter that got too long and I had to split it (hence the longer wait for an upload, sorry about that). The other half, and so the next chapter, is already written so I'll upload it before next weekend :)


	22. Rain

 Merlin swatted away the hand that prodded at his neck. 'Ow, don't do that.'

 Arthur pulled back, rested the hand on his hip and glared at him. Merlin leaned back against the pillow on the hospital bed, hands supporting the motion as they pressed down against the blanket. He had gotten used to that glare. He'd been the target of it for the last three and a half hours. On and off. Sometimes it came with an accidental pout and he had to work hard to maintain a serious expression.

 The two previous hours had involved a lot of hand holding, reassuring words and passive aggressive comments aimed at hospital staff as they waited in A&E. The paramedics, while initially baffled at the minimal damage, were grateful for the demoted emergency. They gave him some treatment in the ambulance and reported him to the hospital. He then joined the other people waiting.

 Arthur had been dutifully angry about the wait, but the hospital was a busy place and Merlin kept trying to tell him he was fine. The word 'fine' always sounded too hoarse though, and Arthur picked up on the little winces Merlin did his best to hide whenever he said anything. After being assessed they admitted him, and Arthur never left his side. The doctor had checked his breathing, his throat, did the whole torchlight in the eyes procedure and then left to fetch some paperwork. Merlin fiddled with the admissions wristband sealed around his left wrist.

 Now Arthur stood glaring at him next to the hospital bed in the Evan Jones Ward. 'You've had worse. Let me look at it.'

 Merlin sighed and titled his head back slightly so Arthur could investigate. The hospital air smelled cold and and clean, all personality scrubbed out of it and sterilised. Arthur's expensive hair products were a welcome relief of individuality. A light liquorice scent clung to his dirty blonde hair and when he leaned down, fingertips lightly tracing the skin around his neck, it was the only real thing he could smell. 

 There were three other patients in the room: one with a kidney problem, another asleep, and the last soon to be transferred to Nightingale Hospital. The first, an elderly man, ignored them with his eyes fixed on an old copy of _Anna Karenina_. The third, seventeen and called Charlie, watched them with curious brown eyes from his bed across the room. 

 'You moonlight as a health care professional now?' Merlin asked him with a half-hearted smile and heard Charlie stifle a laugh.

 'Well, you'd know if you didn't completely blank me like some hormonal brooding teenager half the time,' Arthur shot back and moved back, satisfied with whatever he'd been checking for. Merlin's smile faded and he took the paper cup of tea Arthur had brought him earlier from the side table. It was lukewarm at that point but it gave him a reason to look away. 'Sorry.'

 'No,' Merlin said after he'd taken a sip. Drinking wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be but the sensation wasn't entirely comfortable. It was like swallowing a little too much and having a moment of calm panic. You know it'll be fine and it goes away a second later, but there’s a second when you question your judgement. 'I deserved that. Kind of.' 

 'I'm just worried about you. You didn't answer my texts or my calls,' Arthur paused and let out a breath, 'then Morgana freaks out and I see you with Aredian. Explain it to me again?'

 Merlin nodded with understanding and made eye contact with Charlie. They hadn't spoken much when Arthur left to get tea from the ward's kitchen, but they boy was surprisingly open about himself. Charlie Daegal: admitted for walking into traffic in Camberwell during a psychotic episode. He'd been clipped by a lorry. Apparently it wasn't the first time he'd gotten hurt like that and he seemed at ease with an arm sling and stitches running along the side of his forehead. There was something about the boy that made him want to be honest, something in the way he observed Arthur and himself.  

 Arthur glanced at Charlie too and opened his mouth again, probably to stop him from answering with an audience, but Merlin replied before he could. 'When Aredian tried to kill me that dark magic I told you about a few weeks ago kind of took over. It protected me. I protected me, I guess. Apparently the process of saving my own life turned Aredian's powers against him. Somehow. I honestly have no definitive idea about what happened, or how.'

 Merlin shifted his gaze back to Charlie, who stared back at him with a slight frown. Arthur coughed and moved closer to the bed to give him a pointed look. Merlin shrugged at him took another painfully small sip of the too sweet tea. Arthur put a lot of sugar in most things as it turned out. He smiled. 'So the doctors gave you the all clear?'

 He sighed and put the cup back down on the side table. 'For the tenth time: _yes_. I'll have some bruising, should take it easy for a while and all that, but nothing major. My magic isn't healing it which is only mildly concerning. They're giving me a prescription for some pain killers, though, which helps.'

 'Merlin,' Arthur hissed under his breath. The old man hadn't heard them with the little buds poking out his ears muffling most of the world. Charlie on the other hand hadn't stopped staring. Merlin lifted his eyebrows at Arthur in silent question, who scoffed in return and looked down at his watch. 'The cab should be here in a few minutes.'

 'We could just take the bus, or the tube, or walk. It'd be cheaper.'

 'It's not like money's a problem, Merlin.'

 'DS Emrys,' someone interrupted, and they looked to Dr Andrews who came in with several sheets in his hands. Merlin shifted on the bed so his legs hung over the side. He dragged the hospital sheet with him at an odd angle and shifted to get it out of the way. ‘Miraculously, you seem to be alright, in spite of the circumstances. Normally I’d recommend we keep you overnight but there doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage and the oxygen deprivation to your brain hasn’t caused any issues. You really are quite lucky. I just need your signature on the discharge form and you're free to go. Here's a copy of a report we've sent to your GP, and your prescription has been sent over to Notting Hill Pharmacy. You can pick up your medication tomorrow, and for now take these.'

 'Thank you,' Merlin said and signed with the biro Dr Andrews provided. Arthur took the medicine box the doctor had fished out of his coat pocket and stuffed it into his own jacket pocket.  

 'If you have any problems just visit your GP and they should be able to help, okay?' Dr Andrews went on with an easy smile as he took back the form. 'Hope you both have a nice weekend.' The doctor stopped short of leaving the room when he saw the wide-eyed look on the boy's face. 'Everything alright, Charlie?'

 'Yeah, no, I'm great, thanks,' Charlie said and Merlin finally recognised him. It was like seeing an old road or park he'd forgotten about for years. Daegal. He remembered watching him die. Dr Andrews smiled and left.

 Arthur put a hand on his shoulder. 'Come on, Merlin.'

 'Are you in a rush?'

 'Not a huge fan of this hospital,' he said and looked at the door. Merlin frowned when he realised. It hadn't entirely crossed his mind, more focused on what had just happened, on Arthur being there and how he could be there with him, on the strange boy who was watching them at that very moment. 

 'Oh,' was all he managed to say.

 St Thomas' Hospital. They’d taken him there at Christmas. Both times Arthur had been the one who got to him first. 

 'Yeah,' Arthur said softly. Merlin stood up and changed back into his clothes as quickly as he could. Arthur looked away while he did, even though there wasn’t anything indecent about the process. Once he’d changed and a nurse had begun sorting out the ruffled mess of the bed and taken the gown from him they headed for the door. He could feel Daegal watching them and met the boy's stare. There was something in his eyes. 

 Behind the confusion and humour Merlin felt like part of Daegal remembered too. He didn't know whether he should say anything as he left, or maybe show him some magic, but this Daegal was Charlie. Charlie experienced positive symptoms of Schizophrenia. Seeing magic would make it worse and Merlin couldn't do that. He wanted to do something but he didn't know what, so with Arthur's hand resting at his back he gave the boy a smile and let Arthur lead him out toward the lifts. The walk was filled with their silence and the hospital's noise. 'You scared me, Merlin.'

 Merlin looked at Arthur when he said that. Neither of them pressed the button when they reached them. 'I'm sorry.'

 'Don't be sorry, you idiot.' Arthur sighed and his glare turned soft. He pressed the button when a nurse and a pregnant woman came to stand by them. He moved closer to Merlin. 'I mean you _really_ scared me, and you're acting like it was nothing.'

 'I didn't think brooding about it would make the situation any better,' Merlin said and tucked his hands into his jeans' pockets. 

 Arthur gave him a smile when the lift doors opened. They waited for the nurse to wheel the woman in first. 'Merlin, this is the one time you're allowed to brood, to cry, to hit something.'

 'To kiss you?' he asked and Arthur's smile faltered. When they didn't move the lift doors shut with its newest passengers and left them staring at each other in the corridor. 

 Arthur's eyes trailed down to stare at his mouth with an oddly serious expression. 'Always.'

 Merlin reached out and pulled on his shirt. When he was close enough he pressed his lips against Arthur's. He breathed in his cologne and kept the kiss soft and light. He opened his eyes to see Arthur smiling at him. 

 'I feel better already,' Merlin said. He took Arthur's hand, felt the rough and calloused skin, and didn't let go until they reached his flat. The sun was still out, but it was getting darker, and the Friday night traffic made their twenty minute journey last forty five instead. 

 Arthur told him about their suspensions, the interviews they'll have to go in for, how Morgana would be remanded in Holloway. Once the professional topics had run their course he started on the new gym Percy had taken him to in Borough on Wednesday. It had a Bodycombat class that had impressed him and a boxing ring he and Percy took full advantage of.

 By the time they reached St Stephens Gardens it was close to eight. Arthur paid their fare and walked with Merlin to his flat in the warm evening air. Merlin took a second to breathe it in before he unlocked the doors, first to the house and then to his ground floor flat. Arthur walked in ahead of him and turned on the living room light. 

 'You haven't unpacked,' he said. 

 Merlin shut the door. 'Yeah.'

 'You've been here for a week,' Arthur went on. Merlin looked around the room. He'd unpacked three days earlier, then he'd packed it all up again when he'd gotten back from Arthur's flat that morning. Everything except his bedroom. For whatever reason he hadn't gone back up to it since taking a shower and changing his clothes. It was too personal. Too permanent. The boxes were stacked up in a meaningless arrangement, no more than three banker's boxes in a tower. It made the room feel smaller than it really was.

 'I've also been arrested and hunted down, with a psychotic Nimueh plotting doom and kidnapping Mordred,' Merlin said with a shrug. That's when it hit him. Mordred. He hadn't heard from him since the ambulance.

 Arthur pulled a face. 'You make a fair point.'

 Merlin smiled at him and walked over to open one of the boxes and stare at its contents. Books. Most of the boxes were filled with books. Gifts from friends, old university and police academy texts, things he’d picked up, collected and treasured for years, for only a few weeks. It might have been a quirk he’d kept from his past life, the love of paper and the smell of the binding, the weight in his hands, the messy piles he made when doing research at Senate House Library just for fun. He wondered if Arthur had ever been like that, if Mordred had ever gotten the chance.

_Mordred? Are you okay?_

 The connection was still there, but for whatever reason Mordred's end felt blocked. Dampened.

 'You have food now, though, right?'

 Merlin took a confused moment to pull back into the current situation and realise Arthur was referring to the previous Saturday when they'd gone to the Wildflower café. It didn't feel like enough time for everything that had happened. One week earlier he'd been attacked by Nimueh and patched up by Gwen. A week before that he'd joined his magic with Mordred only to have it all torn apart.

 Arthur waved a hand in front of his face. 'Merlin?'

 'Food, right,' he said and frowned with thought. Had he bought anything? Maybe on Tuesday? 'There should be some, yeah. Can't promise anything fancy, though.'

 'If it's really that bad we can always use Deliveroo,' Arthur suggested with a mocking smile and headed into the kitchen. Merlin saw the soft golden light spill out into the small entrance hall then turned back to the box and ran his hand down the side of the cardboard. The magic was back and recovering from whatever Nimueh and Edwin had done to Mordred, to him. It was like seeing dust specks in the air. Coloured and faint but swarming and floating around each book, each box, the air where Arthur had stood a minute earlier. He smiled at the familiar buzz. He was alright, he wanted to live, and now he could. With Arthur. With Mordred. 

_What happened, Mordred?_

 Still no response. There was a new and scratchy sensation that tapped its way along his skin, but he couldn't figure out what it meant. Merlin let out a long and calming breath before he tested out the magic. He spread out his fingers and the palm of his hand heated up. Then the books started to slot up out of the box and hover in the air, one carefully floating up and out, then the next in a neat row. They bobbed along through the air in a neat file to reach the dark wooden bookcase sat beside the french doors. 

 'Merlin,' Arthur said behind him, and he turned with the smile still on his face as the books danced out of their boxes and pushed themselves onto the shelves. He'd done it by hand beforehand, laboriously and painstakingly unpacked then packed it all up again. Using magic to do it now felt right. Like it was meant to be. Merlin was in a very good mood. Arthur's eyes were fixed on him, lips downturned with a deep frown.

 'Yeah?'

 'What is this?' he asked and Merlin looked at the sheet of paper Arthur held between his hands. Black ink seeped through to the other side slightly and marked it with strange dark shapes, spots and lines. He recognised his own handwriting and remembered the surreal hour it took to write the letter that morning. Merlin's breath caught and the books still mid-air thumped to the ground. Panic crept through his limbs and over his skin like frost.

 'Arthur, let me explain.'

 'Explain?' Arthur repeated quietly, eyebrows lifted and eyes catching the light. They were wet and angry. 'Tell me this is some kind of sick joke. Please, Merlin, tell me you're not that much of an idiot.'

 'I thought,' he started then paused, chest tight and throat aching. 'I didn't think there was another way, Arthur.'

 'You're telling me that it's true? You spoke with Aredian and asked him to do that to you? You planned on letting him kill you?'

 Merlin watched as hard and upset expressions grabbed at and moulded the ex-King's face. 'Arthur.'

 'And all in _my_ name? How,' Arthur stopped and swallowed. He looked away for a second and Merlin could see he was working hard to control himself. The silence was cold, everything was cold, even the coloured dust specks had frozen in the air and turned a faint and dying blue. 'How could you do something like that. How could you write this? You come to me and we,' he paused again. Merlin could see his pain. He felt it too. 'And the whole time you were just going to throw yourself away? You had no right. You should have told me.'

 Merlin didn't know what to say. He could only watch Arthur stand in the doorway with the letter he'd wanted him to read without him there, a letter that wasn't fair, that was cruel. What had he been thinking?

 'I was supposed to find out like this?' he went on and shook the paper in the air. Arthur scrunched it up into a ball and threw it to the ground before running his hands through his hair. 'How could you, Merlin? Is that all I am? Is that all you think you are? That you can just write yourself out of life, out of _my_ life, like some kind of _offering_? You should have told me. You should have let me help you!'

 'Arthur, please calm down,' Merlin told him with a weak voice. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to be okay now. Merlin had fought to live, he'd changed his mind when Aredian tried to kill him. He opened his mouth to say as much when Arthur shook his head.

 'No,' he said, and the wet eyes started to spill out. Arthur let the tears run down, either oblivious to them or he simply didn't care. He gave Merlin a look that hit all his breath away like a door slamming shut with a too-strong breeze. 'This is too much. I get we haven't exactly been dealing with your run of the mill situations, but this is just fucked up. We spent the night together and you left me alone in the morning for _that_? I can't-'

 Merlin tried to take in a breath. 'Arthur, you don't understand.'

 'Understand? I love you, Merlin, and you _lied_ to me. You had sex with me without saying a thing and you left a _note_? Vivian was right. You do have a death wish.'

 'It's not that simple.'

 Arthur grew still and stared at him with his wet eyes. 'I don't think I can do this.'

 The colour drained out of the air like rain washing away art on a wall. It smudged and blurred the image. The paint grew diluted and streaked. 'What do you mean?'

 'You know what I mean. What do you want me to say, Merlin? That I'm okay with you lying to me? That it's fine you're willing to die at the drop of a hat if it means saving me? That's not okay. If me being in your life means you value it less,' Arthur said and anger flashed across his face. 'I can't be a part of that.'

 'Arthur,' Merlin began but he had already turned around, had already started walking towards the door. Merlin moved after him, the frost burning at that point and the colourless, airless, world thick and empty as he walked through it. He fought against the resistance, the sensation that he couldn't breathe, and grabbed onto Arthur's forearm. 'Wait, Arthur. You don't understand.'

 'And I don't think I ever will, Merlin,' he said, his blue eyes sad and honest. He tried to take his arm away and he let him but stepped around to block the door. Arthur pressed his lips together and more tears fell. 'Let me go.'

 'If you could?' Merlin asked. His whole body burned and his heart thudded too heavily in his chest. He didn't know if he could do it, if it was worth it. Merlin knew what he'd thought for weeks, for months, but he wasn't sure anymore. 

 'Merlin,' Arthur's voice was soft but commanding, 'let me go.'

 'If you could understand?' he said again. 'If there was a way for you to understand why I did this, why I'd do it again, would you want to? Even if it hurt you?'

 Arthur gave him a confused look. 'I'd do anything for you, Merlin. You know that. I'm breaking up with you for god’s sake. Just,' he closed his eyes, eyelashes dark and wet. 'Just let me go, Merlin.'

 Arthur opened them again when he didn't move and all Merlin could say was, 'I can't lose you. Not again.' 

 He stepped forward and took Arthur's face in his hands. Before Arthur's protest could sound Merlin remembered. Everything and anything, he let it fill his mind and saw Arthur's blue eyes fill with a golden shimmer. The area around them grew out of focus and different smells, temperatures, voices bombarded them both.

_I've been trained to kill since birth._

_You're threatening me with a spoon?_

_If I need a servant in the next life . . ._

_There will never be another like you, Arthur._

 Merlin stared into Arthur's eyes as he opened that gateway and let him remember. He felt him take in a sharp breath and then it was quiet, and Merlin drew himself back into the moment. The glow left Arthur's eyes. He didn't take his hands away immediately. Only when Arthur stepped backwards did he drop his arms.

 'Arthur?'

 He didn't say anything, didn't look away, didn't move. Merlin stared at him, barely breathing, and waited. 

 When he finally spoke his voice was tired and low. 'I need to leave.'

 'Please,' the words left his lips instantly, 'don't go.'

 Arthur didn't frown or look confused. He wore an expression Merlin had never seen before, in either lifetime. Merlin hesitated, then moved out of the way. The moment he did Arthur walked forward, opened the door and left. A cool breeze blew in when the main house door opened and closed and then all he could hear was ambient traffic and the wind rustling trees in the small park opposite.

 The door clicked shut with a soft push of Merlin's hand. He leaned back against it and stared at nothing in particular. _Knowing is better than being left in the dark._ He recalled the session with Dr Ruadan. The man had essentially predicted the outcome weeks ago. He should have known. He should have accepted it sooner. Merlin could feel his tears, how they grew in his eyes hot and wet and unwelcome. The magic he'd used cooled until he didn't feel it anymore, the panic faded away and colour returned to the world. It soaked back into the air, floor, wall, like a cloth mopping up spilled paints, blood, or coffee. Everything was stained with life again, he'd lost Arthur again, and Merlin didn't know what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear these characters take matters into their own hands sometimes - I write it with a plan but then that plan changes when they go ahead and behave differently. I'm definitely approaching the end of this part of the series, that's all I know for sure but I don't think I'll try predicting how many chapters are left until it's all written :P


	23. The Second Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, but here's the next chapter! :D Figuring out where this is going is one of the hardest but most rewarding parts of Rise of the Dragonlord (besides writing it and reading your reviews obviously), but I think I'm close to knowing how Fire will end. Hope you stick with it and enjoy :) (Also updated the Spotify playlist if you wanna check that out)

 Arthur stopped on the stairs. The wind was soft and cool. It didn't feel any different. The sound of the trees was the same, the colour of their leaves was the same and the way they moved with the breeze was the same. He fought the urge to scream, a strange welling in his chest, a desperation to just tear the colours out, tear the leaves away and pull it all around him until he couldn't feel, couldn't see, couldn't smell anymore. He balled his fists and closed his eyes and counted to ten, then to twenty, then to thirty. 

 When he looked at the street ahead again it was the same. He ran a hand through his hair and stepped onto the pavement, wiped away the tears, and kept each breath controlled as he walked across to the side of the road with the park. The black iron fence guarded his right side as he went. Arthur became uncomfortably aware of the cars and towering white townhouses, of the other people walking around in the dying evening light, of himself. 

 Camelot. King. Dragons. His knights.

 Avalon. 

 His steps faltered as he processed it. He'd died. Merlin had been there, holding him, telling him to stay and that he couldn't go. He couldn't leave him. It was distant and blurred, but Arthur could feel it. The cold air on that bank next to the lake, the moist grass, the chainmail that weighed him down, the piece of the blade that killed him. Merlin had held him through all of it. He'd been the only warm thing. 

 Arthur didn't pay complete attention to where he walked. He saw a short red post box, a road sign that read CHEPSTOW ROADW2, and everything beyond that was just a stream of white, cream, green and black. It was like passing through the National Gallery. He could see the shapes, the faces, and feel the history around him, the history in the oil and the canvases, but he wasn't quite there. He couldn't really know the eyes that stared out at him, or hear the roar of the lions, hear the oceans and life of the ports. He could understand it, imagine it, but those lives, that past life, was fragmented. Insulated by that void, the paint and heavy wooden frames. It was insulated by the absence that connected his life in Camelot to his life in London.

 The rhythmic impact of his shoes on the pavement carried him to Queensway Station and when he at last took in his surroundings with real thought he saw the black gates rise before Kensington Gardens. He pulled out his phone and a small part of him expected to see a missed call, maybe a text, but there was only a Service Update from TfL. Arthur bit the inside of his cheek and tapped onto Contacts. He flicked his thumb against the screen so names and pictures whirred up until he saw the one that mattered.

_Gwen._

 He called her and she picked up after two rings. The speed threw him a little but she steered him into response easily.

_'Arthur, thank god. Is Merlin alright?'_

'Yeah,' he said and cleared his throat, 'he's fine. Can we meet?'

_'Sure. I just thought you'd be with Merlin with what happened, though? Arthur, you should know that Morgana disappeared during the chaos.'_

 Arthur let out a long breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Where are you?'

_'I'm still at the Yard. Everything's been a bit hectic. Actually that might be an understatement. You can pick me up if you like? What were you thinking of doing?'_

'Just want to talk,' he told her. He had to talk. He had no one else. His father had died, his sister both past and present was estranged, and his knights, his friends, weren't that close. Not like Gwen had been. Not like Merlin had been. _God. Merlin_. 'Like we used to.'

_'We could go back to mine? I've actually got some news for you, and Lance is pulling a night shift so we'll have the place to ourselves.'_

 He nodded at the suggestion and turned left around the corner towards Bayswater Station. 'Sounds perfect.'

_'Great, see you at ten?'_

'See you then,' he said and smiled slightly at the promise, the decision and pact made between them to meet. He glanced at his watch to see _9:43_ in gold plated roman numerals glare at him through the glass face. Arthur didn't pause or reconsider his decision as he joined late night commuters and friends on the underground. There was a blast of hot, unwanted proximity that he didn't entirely care about, then a blast of cold and he walked out of St James's Park Station. Scotland Yard loomed ahead, office lights shining out into the darker, heavier air. It was going to rain. That odd damp smell clung to the still and humid air. Arthur tried to ignore the way he could still smell the similar wet air he'd been surrounded by before he had died. He had been dead. He had died. He'd been dead. He was alive again. _Again_. He was with Merlin, with them all.

'Arthur!' Gwen called out to him when she saw him on the opposite side of the street. The traffic and bustle of Broadway and the surrounding streets came back into focus like water freezing so you could see the lines of the current and the trapped leaves. She skipped a little across the road and hugged him. It was brief, friendly, and left him reeling. Her perfume was light and sweet.  

'I'm exhausted,' she huffed and leaned against him as they headed back to the station. 'We've launched an appeal to find Morgana already. With all the publicity she'll be easy to spot, so our job's already done on that side of things.'

'Good,' he said with a curt nod. 'Did the others work late too?'

'Yeah, Kilgharrah had us charging all around the place. We were glad to, of course, and the press, _god_ the press. You'd think we'd killed all their loved ones the way they tried to get to us all. Oh, and Merlin was right. Aredian did kill Vivian, the poor girl. Uniforms found her body at his townhouse. It's insane, this whole case and this stuff with Morgana.'

'Sounds like it,' he murmured. Arthur kept seeing faces and remembering things from the past, the memories trying to fix themselves in his present invasively and unwelcome. 'Maybe you should ask to get suspension as well. You all need the break.'

'Oh!' Gwen blurted and beamed at him. 'Your suspension has been revoked.’

'Seriously?'

'Yeah, and Merlin's too. We've all got to get interviewed and checked out by those internal affairs people, and until you've had your _talk_ ,' she quoted with her fingers in the air, 'you won't be allowed back. After that though, everything's square with the faceless all powerful leaders.'

'If the talk goes well, that is,' he added.

'Why wouldn't it?'

Arthur smiled at her. 'You've got news?'

'I'll tell you once I've got food. Leon and Gwaine went to get takeaway but I'm trying to be healthy.' She sighed again with a small smile. 'Much to Lance's irritation.'

 The journey to her house was mostly quiet with Gwen worn out and Arthur's thoughts wandering every chance they got. Their home was on the bank, a naked view and access to the Thames and the bank opposite. Walking to the house in the dying light was breathtaking. Sunset brought soft orange light which soaked into the reflective water and rippled into colourful slithers. They flashed in and out of view, each time a different colour. 

'You sure you're okay?' Gwen asked again as she unlocked the front door.

'Yeah.'

'Worried about Merlin?'

 He stared at her for a moment as the cold ache returned to his brow and temples. 'Something like that.'

'Hm, well I'm sure my cauliflower recipe will distract you,' she went on and led him inside, turning on the lights as she went.

'Cauliflower?'

 Gwen grinned at him once they were inside and led him into the kitchen. 'Terrifying, I know. Just wait and see.'

 

* * *

 

 Merlin stepped away from the door and headed into his kitchen. He suppressed a shiver and started to tug off his clothes. Jumper, shirt, belt, jeans, socks, shoes, underwear. It was systematic and the exposure helped numb him further. He dropped the collection by the washing machine, shoes kept separate and placed nowhere in particular. He picked out a pair of clean boxers and a t-shirt he'd forgotten in the machine two days earlier and then stuffed it with that day's clothing and started the cycle. 

 The sound of the water filling up inside grew into white noise, and Merlin added to it when he poured a glass of water. He drank it in seconds, poured another, walked back into the hallway, stared blankly at the door for a second, then climbed the stairs. He couldn't decide if he felt hot or cold or if he even cared. 

_I need to leave._

 Merlin blew out a long and exhausted breath. The lump in his throat was painful and he wanted to shut down, to sleep and not wake up. What had he been thinking? That note was his first mistake. Making Arthur remember it all was his second. He was selfish. He pushed down the door handle and stepped inside his bedroom. 

 Colour blotched and stained the air. 

'Mordred?' he asked, startled by the person wrapped up in his duvet. Blues, greens and reds soaked the air around the bed like a strange mist that disappeared once he'd blinked. The wardrobe was open, first aid spread messily on the ground, and drawers left slightly open. Merlin walked forward slowly. 

_Mordred?_

 Still no response. He made it to the side of the bed before he could see his face. He was asleep, pale, and feverish. Merlin put the glass down on the side table and reached forward to shake him gently. He noticed the blood a few seconds later. He stopped shaking him and controlled the panic that twisted his nerves. Merlin stripped back the duvet and saw Mordred's hands covered in blood, the bandages he'd tried to make soaked through. 

 He sat next to Mordred before he took his hands into his own. They were warm, wet, and too cold. He couldn't be sure if he was still breathing, but part of Merlin knew he'd feel it if Mordred died. Just like he'd feel it if anything ever happened to Arthur. He concentrated on the wounds the wet bandages had failed to protect and let his magic work its way through the bloody layers to the skin. It was like he had more fingers in the magic. He felt the ridges of the cut skin, the rough and sticky coagulation, the heat of the blood that pumped through the surrounding tissue. 

 Merlin burned any germs and infection out of the wounds and stitched the cuts back together. Mordred's eyebrows moved together as he worked and his breaths became audible. Once they were done Merlin carefully unwrapped the bandages, ignored how sickly they felt against his own dry hands, and dropped them into the bin in the corner of the room. His own hands were stained a pinkish-red. Merlin kept them at his side when he turned back to find Mordred sat up and staring at him. His eyes were large and unfocused, and when he saw the blood that stained the bed sheet they grew wild.

 He shifted back and away from the blood. Their connection was still cut off from Mordred's end and Merlin couldn't feel his thoughts. He watched him as the uncomfortable silence swelled in his head, as the storm grew dark and wet in Mordred's eyes.

 Merlin continued forward to the bed and touched his shoulder lightly. His suit was torn, soiled and stank. It was the same one he'd worn when he'd disappeared four nights earlier. The realisation hurt Merlin more than he had expected. 'Mordred, what happened?' 

 When he looked at him there was a flash of recognition, a momentary softening, that was blinked away too soon. He didn't give any verbal response but his expression caved from shock to sadness, muscles relaxed and lips parted. He leaned into Merlin's hand. Merlin waved his hand over the sheets and a curved sweep of white ran through the blood. It ran back and forth until it had erased every trace of blood, of dirt or dampness and then he let the heat drip out of the hand on Mordred's shoulder. It cleaned the suit, dried him out, but magic wasn't enough. 

 Merlin sat down next to him and put his fingers to the ruined knot of the tie. Mordred made no motion to stop him so he continued. Magic saved their lives but it wasn't going to take that expression away from Mordred's face. Merlin worked hard not to crack and ask him more questions. He concentrated on slipping the tie from his neck, concentrated on unbuttoning the shirt with torn sleeves. He hesitated when he saw the black tattoo, heavy and permanently soaked into Mordred's skin. He wondered if Mordred felt it then as he watched him undo his shirt. If it hurt, or if he felt nothing at all. 

 Mordred let out a deep breath, the tail end of which brushed his face, and wrapped a cold hand around Merlin's. 'Don't stop.'

 He nodded and carried on. Goosebumps rose on Mordred's skin when he pushed the thin fabric of the shirt back over his shoulders. Muscle and sinew shifted as Mordred moved his arms out of the sleeves and let Merlin take the shirt away and drop it onto the floor. 

'Can you stand?' Merlin asked him. Mordred nodded and moved forward, closed the space between them, but Merlin shifted off the bed and gave him room. He silently removed the belt from Mordred's waist, undid the button and drew the zip down on his trousers. Black fabric fell down his thighs and Merlin knelt down to pull the trousers off entirely. Mordred's left knee bent up as he lifted his leg out the one side and stepped out, then his right. Each time he exposed the pale skin of his inner thighs, a stark contrast to the dark trail of hair that ran up and out from beneath the waistband of his boxers. Merlin shifted his gaze and took the trousers, belt, and shirt to the laundry basket beside the wardrobe.

 He turned back to see Mordred watching him. 'Where are your shoes?' 

'I have no idea,' he said with a small and tired frown. Merlin turned back to the wardrobe and pulled a t-shirt and hoodie out, threw them to the bed, and hunted down a pair of clean underwear and pyjama trousers. Once he'd collected them all into a ball on the bed he gestured to Mordred.

'These should fit you,' he told him as his eyes shifted between the bundle and Mordred. 'You can shower if you want. I'll go make tea while you change or shower, or both. Unless you want something else like hot chocolate? Actually when's the last time you ate properly? You like burgers, right?'

'Yeah.'

 Merlin headed to the door. 'I'll order some stuff from Gourmet Burger Kitchen. You like them more than Byron, don't you?'

'Thanks,' Mordred said and he left down the staircase. Merlin calmed his tight breaths and washed his hands in the kitchen sink, dried them, then hunted down his mobile phone. Arthur's. It was his now, wasn't it? It had fallen out of his trouser pockets onto the floor, nestled up against the base of a kitchen cupboard. Merlin snatched it up and loaded Deliveroo. He swiped and tapped until he reached the selection. Two classic cheese burgers, two portions of fries, two Oreo milkshakes. Mordred liked Oreos, didn’t he? Estimated delivery 15 minutes. Total £36.40. Checkout. He tapped it and left the mobile on the work surface as he flicked on the kettle and started on the tea. His hand was hot against the cool mug handle as he carried the finished product back up to the bedroom.

 Inside he heard the shower, saw the bathroom door closed and bundle gone. 

 His chest ached when he put the mug down on the side table. Merlin stripped the sheets from the bed, stole away the pillow cases and threw them all into the woven basket. The process of tugging and shoving the downy duvet into a clean cover kept him sane, distracted, calm. Once he'd shaken the duvet out, stuffed in the pillows and remade the bed he sat on the edge and traced his fingertips over the skin of his bare knees, listened to the shower, breathed in the clean scent of detergent that clung to the new covers. 

 He sat there until he heard the doorbell ring. The shower stopped running and Merlin paused at the door but left to collect the food anyway. The evening sky had grown dark and the Deliveroo driver handed over the food with a mumble before he charged back to the moped and drove off, red rear light glaring out like an eye. When Merlin got back Mordred had donned everything but the hoodie, skin slightly flushed from the heat of the shower. He stood sipping at the tea with the mug cupped between his hands.

'Food's here,' Merlin announced and Mordred faced him, wet curls hanging over his forehead. 

 Mordred put the tea down and helped Merlin with the load. 'It smells amazing.'

 Merlin gave him direction when he climbed onto the bed and sat cross legged. Opening one of the bags he pulled out the styrofoam containers and set them out to the side before arranging the napkins strategically.

'You're sure you want to eat on your bed?'

'If it gets messy we can use magic,' he reasoned. 'It'll be as if it never happened.'

 Mordred's hesitation passed when Merlin opened the lid of his cheese burger and he climbed up to sit opposite him with his own bundle. Merlin took the milkshake from him as he found his balance and smiled at the idea that popped into his head. He let go of the milkshake mid air and watched it float in place. Lifting his own into the air he repeated the magic and left the drinks floating next to them. Merlin watched Mordred smile, how his skin pushed up into the folds of his unshaven cheeks, how his wet teeth caught the light. The peppermint was distinct among the heady smell of the burger and fries.

'You brushed your teeth?'

'I have new appreciation for modern amenities,' he said as he opened his own containers. 'Used one of your spare toothbrush heads. I hope that's okay.'

'It's great,' Merlin assured him, regretted the excessive choice of the word 'great' and took a large bite of the burger to distract himself again. Mordred picked at his fries a bit before he tried the burger. Some mayo spilled out onto his finger and he sucked it off, leaving a wet glisten behind. Merlin watched and ate with him in silence for several minutes. The tips of Mordred’s ears were still wet, and a few of his curls grew thicker and darker at their tips. Eventually one or two released a small drop of water that stained the dark grey cotton with a black speck. 

 The pull verged on intoxicating. Merlin wondered if it only seemed that way because they'd gone without magic for so long, if Arthur's leaving made their connection more important, made it necessary. He couldn't imagine the isolation he'd felt after Camlann, after Avalon, not truly. His own mind had scrubbed it from memory, but it left grooves where it had been scraped away and those marks told him enough. They felt like enough to know that he didn't want to be alone again. He didn't want to die again, or watch someone else die. 

 When they'd both finished their burgers and made a mess of relish, mayonnaise and lettuce on their napkins, Mordred noticed and caught his stare. He reached forward and took Merlin's hand, both nearly the same temperature to Merlin's relief, and squeezed.

_Thank you._

 The air stilled and the connection snapped back into place. Mordred flooded into him. The peppermint, the burger, his blood, the rain and cave. The world was unsteady for a few moments, cut out and put back together in the wrong order with missing pieces, before everything settled down again and Merlin felt it. The second heavy beat in his chest, the second heart. For a moment he was content. 

 Merlin interlaced his fingers with Mordred's and smiled at him weakly. He was alive. Nimueh was not. Morgana had saved him. She'd saved them both. 

 His smile faded with Mordred's as the strange awareness made itself at home in his head. Morgana was gone. 

 He didn't know what to tell him. After a second of thought he decided on, _I'm so sorry, Mordred._

 Merlin felt what he felt. What he had felt watching her fall, what he had felt as he fell himself. They weren't his memories, but he could taste them like the thick dampness in the air after heavy rain. He had to tell Arthur. His breath caught.

_You can tell him later._

 Merlin frowned at Mordred's words but he agreed. He returned to his fries and milkshake, enjoyed the full feeling, and when they were both done he cleared it all away with magic. Stuffed, warm, and exhausted they laid back together on the bed and he rested his face against Mordred's warm clean hair. Merlin's arm curled around his waist and pressed gently against the muscle and bone there. His ribs were a bit too prominent and the muscle was softer. How long would it take for him to regain the strength he'd lost?

 Merlin's free hand played with Mordred's. He traced the lines of his healed palm, pushed at his fingers to have Mordred push back. They slipped their fingers together and then freed themselves again, over and over. He closed his eyes with a yawn, and opened them again with tears blurring his vision. Mordred moved closer against him, the soft fabric of his trousers brushing against his bare leg. 

'I don't want to go,' Merlin said quietly. The ache in his chest had returned and it was a struggle not to cry.

 Mordred moved his hand away to stroke his arm. 'You have to.'

 His voice was low, weighted with sleep, and the words ran through Merlin just as lowly, as heavily. He closed his eyes for a second time and breathed Mordred in, the one who understood, who hadn't rejected him. A small, cruel part inside of him wished it had been the other way round. Lose Mordred and gain Arthur. It didn't work that way of course. They were all bound together, they couldn't really lose each other. Merlin saw the trails that stuck to the air like spider webs if he looked in the right way. He didn't know what they meant. He was scared to find out. 

'Merlin,' Mordred said, quieter this time. He was on the edge of deep sleep. 

'I have to,' Merlin repeated and pressed a kiss against Mordred's head before he slipped out of the embrace. Mordred blinked at him drowsily before his eyelids remained shut, dark lashes resting on his skin. Merlin got dressed quickly and quietly. When he passed the doorway he flicked the light switch to leave Mordred asleep in the dark.

 

* * *

 

 Gwen poked her fork full of cauliflower and bacon opposite him, her one elbow resting at ease on the kitchen counter. Arthur stirred his own _healthy,_ paprika sprinkled meal in its shiny egg-shell blue bowl. He'd lost his appetite after three mouthfuls. 

'Arthur, what is it?' Gwen asked and rested her fork against the side of her bowl to give him her complete attention. He looked at her, remembered how candlelight used to make her skin glow with something rich and golden. The white and glaring lights in her kitchen weren't as flattering, but he found the same warmth in her eyes. Merlin's eyes were blue but somehow darker than her brown ones. Gwen watched him with concern, care, and all he wanted was to look into those dark blue eyes and hold him close. He was the one who walked out, though, not Merlin. Arthur bit his bottom lip with the thought, internally cursed himself at the memory of Merlin biting his lips instead, and let out a breath of defeat. 

'You're right,' he said and paused to find the words. 'I'm not okay. I've ignored it and denied it, but I can't anymore. It's like it's always been there at the back of my mind.'

'What?'

'This feeling. It's like I don't quite belong, don't fit in with the world. I've had it for as long as I can remember, and then,' he stopped and looked down into the bowl.

'Then?'

 He had loved Gwen. He had married her, slept with her, and she had no idea. He had loved Merlin, died in his arms, and then he'd found him again. 'Then Merlin showed up at Scotland Yard last year and I didn't feel so out of place.'

'What's wrong with that?'

'I didn't question it, not really. Why I felt that way my whole life, why it changed when he came,' he tried to explain. He couldn't get his thoughts straight. They jumped from Merlin to Gwen to Camelot, to Morgana, to the knights, his detectives, London, then it all looped and blurred and made his head hurt. 'It's not just a romantic love thing, not entirely. It's different to that and a lot more, I guess. I think I should have cared to figure it out sooner.'

'Why?'

'I'm not sure I can handle it.' He drew a small circle with his finger on the counter, felt his skin drag against the marble. 'Knowing.'

'You figured out the feeling then?'

'You could say that.' 

 Gwen didn't say anything for a while. At last she asked, 'Does it change anything?'

 Arthur looked up at her and frowned. 'I don't know, that's the problem.'

 She nodded with some kind of understanding, gave him a softer look and lifted her eyebrows gently in question. 'You love him?'

'Merlin?' His head throbbed, his stomach clenched with nausea, his heartbeat was hard and heavy. 'More than ever.'

'Then don't let it change anything.' 

'It's not that simple.'

'It is, actually,' she told him with a smile. 'Trust me, Arthur, I know a thing or two. If you really love him, then you can get past whatever it is you're feeling. You just have to try.'


	24. Internal Combustion

 They had sat in silence for a eight, almost nine, minutes. Gwen knew she had to give Arthur room, give him silence to fill with thoughts and internal reasoning, but it had grown uncomfortable. It was a Saturday tomorrow, so she didn't have to worry about getting up early for work, and would give him all the time he needed but the comfort she'd felt before had definitely changed, mutated into something large and full. It spilled over with the twists and knots in the air and in her stomach. It had never felt like that before. 

'Arthur,' she had just started to say when he interrupted her with his question.

'What was your news?'

'Oh.' 

 She was thrown by the sudden subject change, but the news she had made her smile in spite of everything.

 Arthur quirked a brow at her expression. 'What?' 

 She bit her bottom lip and knew she looked ridiculous with her cheek scooping smile, so controlled her smile and with the calmest and clearest voice she could manage said, 'Lance proposed.'

' _What?_ '

'Last night after his shift he took me to this restaurant in Piccadilly, the Savini at Criterion, and it was _beautiful_ ,' she rambled. Arthur's stare was shocked, delighted, sad, but she ignored the latter and remembered the night before. Lance had pulled the chair back for her, wore his best suit, and kept blushing. His smooth talking became more stunted at times, a little off, and it had been adorable and endearing and then he'd fallen quiet. They'd stared at each other over the candles for god knows how long and then he reached into his pocket, came over to her side and bent down onto one knee. The other people in the restaurant had whispered to each other excitedly and turned their heads, and Gwen's head had felt like the candlelight. Warm, bright, perfect. 'One of the most beautiful places I've ever been. At first he said it was to celebrate our eight month anniversary but then he proposed.' 

'What did you say?'

'Yes, of course,' she said, her big smile back. Lance's face was etched into her mind when she'd said yes. He'd kissed her and swept her up into a hug and people had applauded and she had fallen in love with him all over again. They couldn't stop laughing the whole night. Something about the Thursday had felt different, as if the air were full of hope. Her feeling had been right. 'His cousin is flying in from Madrid with the engagement ring tonight.'

'Congratulations, Gwen,' Arthur said and gave her a sincere, toothy smile. 

'Thank you.' She couldn't believe it but she managed a wider smile of her own. 'Guinevere du Lac. It sounds quite good, doesn't it?'

 Arthur nodded. 'It does.'

 Someone knocked at the door.

'Is that Lance?' he asked.

 Gwen shook her head. His shift wasn't over until 4am the next morning. 

'Hang on a second,' she said, slipped off the high kitchen stool and went to answer. When she opened the door Merlin stared at her. He looked better, exhausted with too-hollow cheeks, unkept stubble and slumped shoulders, but better than he had the day before. 'Merlin, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be resting?'

'Is Arthur here?' he asked her quietly, clearly. 

'Yes.'

 She remained in the doorway, didn't invite him in, and thought over the options. They had the strangest relationship she'd ever known, but one of the strongest. They'd work it out. 'Wait for a second?'

 He seemed to think about it, then agreed. 'Sure.'

 She left the door open and hurried back to Arthur in the kitchen. His eyes were dark. 

'No,' was all he said and returned to the cauliflower, stirring at it pointlessly.

'Arthur,' she started but he killed her next words with a look.

'I can't,' he said, ‘not now.'

'Okay.' 

 She went back to the door. Merlin repeatedly tapped the front of his right shoe against the bottom of a flower pot beside the steps. When he heard her he looked up, eyes wide with something unpleasant, but it fell away instantly. 

'I'm sorry, Merlin, he says he can't talk right now,' she recounted in her softest voice. 'I'm sure you can try again tomorrow. Call him, maybe?'

'No, no, I can't call. He needs to know,' he said and the strain in his voice tightened around his eyes. 'It can't wait.'

 Gwen leaned against the doorframe, hating how he looked at her with the depressed panic in his eyes. She pressed her lips together and told him, 'He won't come, Merlin.'

 He winced a little when she did and then his expression hardened. 'Then you have to tell him. I'm sorry, Gwen, but he has to know, and unless you want me to storm in there-'

'You can tell me,' she stopped him and kept her voice soft. 'What's wrong?'

'It's Morgana,' he began and paused, eyes dropped down as he worked through his words. When he looked up the tight eyes and strained voice were gone, replaced with a strength and practicality that scared her. That made her want to pull him into a hug and never let go. She swallowed and braced herself when he continued. 'She found Mordred and went to him when everything with Aredian happened. She saved him, saved my life because she did, but Nimueh stabbed her. She fell.'

 Gwen frowned at him, her hands and feet cold with a spreading numb tingle. Another silence stretched and she pressed her eyes and head into it. 

'Morgana's dead?'

'Yes.'

'Oh my god,' she said brought her cold hand up to cover her mouth. Everything was slower, duller, and Merlin watched her silently, stood in the centre of it all. 'His father died less than a year ago. Now Morgana?'

 Merlin's brows pinched together and his hard look slipped. 'I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell him myself. I should have, I'm sorry Gwen. Let me in, I'll tell him myself, okay?'

'No, Merlin, it's alright,' Gwen said and put her hand out against his chest when he stepped forward. 'With the mood he's in, with whatever happened between you, it'd be better for me to tell him. Thank you.'

'Sorry,' he said and stepped back. He made to turn away but she stopped him a hand on his arm.

'Merlin.'

'Yeah?'

 She wanted to tell him it would all work out, that they'd get through this, that Arthur would forgive him for whatever he'd done, that they'd go on at the Yard like before Christmas when things had been straight forward. She wanted to tell him that the magic, Old Religion, Mordred, that none of it changed how Arthur felt, how they all felt. She could see how those words would drain the darkness from his eyes, maybe turn the sharpness in his expression soft.

'Gwen?' he said in her silence. She let go of his arm and wrapped it around the door handle.

'Nothing.' 

 Merlin frowned but nodded, tucked his hands into his coat pocket, and headed down the front pathway. She saw four of his steps and on what should have been the fifth he was gone. The walkway that ran along the front of the houses was deserted, the wind turned cold as it blew over the Thames, and the pollution-lighted night sky droned with a passing aeroplane.

 

*   *   *

 

 Mordred stretched out in the bed and stretched open his mouth with a yawn. He rolled over and slammed his hand down on the alarm clock to shut it up. Its rings echoed in his ears a little and made the air taste bitter. When he heard the sleepy mumble behind him the bitterness disappeared. He turned over until his nose almost touched Merlin's. 

'Merlin,' he whispered, and the man groaned at him before nuzzling his face into the his pillow. 'Merlin, it's seven.'

 Mordred pulled his hand out from under the heat of the shared duvet and brushed back some of the dark hair that rested over his cheekbone. No groan, no words, just level and deep breaths.

'You can't sleep through your first day back on the clock,' Mordred told him gently. He could hear the smile in his voice when he said it. 'You've had a whole week to hide.'

 He brushed back more hair and Merlin groaned at him then rolled over to put his back to Mordred. He let out a sigh and propped himself up onto his right elbow. Dipping his head down next to Merlin's ear he blew against it.

'Stop it,' Merlin mumbled to him and covered his ear with a hand. 

'You have to get up,' he said. 'I'll stop when you're out of bed.'

 Silence. Mordred's smile widened.

'Don't make me use magic.'

 Merlin craned his head back to glare at him. 'You wouldn't.'

 His voice was heavy and low with sleep and Mordred swallowed the tightness in his throat. 

'I would,' he said and let the warmth blow out of his left hand. It was numb as ice the next second and he quickly tucked it under the covers and found Merlin's warm hip. When Mordred pressed the cold hand against his exposed skin, to then tuck it up under his t-shirt, he let out a high-pitched yelp and tried to get away. 

 Mordred pulled Merlin back against him and ran the cold hand up over his chest. He laughed against Merlin's ear as he squirmed but Merlin managed to turn over and grab his hands to pin them either side of his head.

 His breathing hitched and Mordred held his breath as he looked up at Merlin's smiling face. The laughter and smile died away and they looked at each other like that for a minute, maybe two, three, he didn’t care and couldn’t keep track. Mordred was uncomfortably aware of the warmth, the pressure of Merlin's hands around his wrists, his knees on either side of his hips. It threw his head back into that hotel, the anger and the kiss, the fire and Aglain's blood.

'We have to get ready,' Mordred told him in a small voice. Merlin blinked at him and for a moment Mordred could have sworn he leaned closer, but he climbed off and got to his feet before he could be sure. 

 Merlin grabbed some clothes from his wardrobe and turned back to ask, 'Can you give me a lift?' 

 He nodded and Merlin went to change in the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He grabbed his own clothes out of the suitcase he'd haphazardly packed almost a week before. Merlin had gone with him to the Islington flat, the place he'd called a home with Morgana, the place he'd lied and pretended to still be that monster. He'd packed up his clothes, essentials, documents, whatever else he thought could be relevant, and let Merlin Vanish with it back to Notting Hill. He'd then driven his motorbike through central and parked it in front of the park.

 Twenty minutes later and they'd both showered, dressed, and packed their bags. Mordred still found it hard to eat, and Merlin was even worse, but they had water, coffee, an apple each. It felt like some strange recovery or rehabilitation, which it was, but it was something else undefinable. Mordred buttoned up his coat against the cooler August wind and waited next to his bike. It was second hand, loved, ridden to a mileage of around 1000, and marked his new start from what had happened the year before. 

 The Yamaha YBR 125 had cost a little over a thousand pounds and felt simple, down to earth, honest. Mordred moved his helmet from one hand to the next as he waited beside it. After a minute or two Merlin emerged from the white building and stepped down past the pretentious pillars. He carried the other helmet Mordred had bought for him last Wednesday when Merlin had gone in for his interview, interrogation, whatever Scotland Yard's internal affairs investigators wanted to call it.

 They'd decided not to hold a misconduct hearing and let Merlin continue with a small leave of absence after the attack. Suspensions had been lifted, the Commissioner had released a statement clarifying the Met's commitment to justice and perseverance in the face of adversity and so on. Last week had been difficult, least of all because of the cold shoulder he received from Arthur's entire murder investigation team. A cold shoulder Merlin had also received.

 Morgana had been declared 'missing' and he now had a meeting with Commander Richard Marten, head of the Intelligence Command, at 8am sharp. 

 Mordred pushed the helmet down over his head once Merlin crossed the street and swung his leg over the bike. He tightened the strap under his chin and flipped down the visor. It channelled his sight, secured his mind against the sometimes overwhelming details of the world around him. Merlin had described to him the colours he saw, and while his own magic didn't translate into the world like that he understood it. Sounds had tastes to him, smells had sounds, atmospheres had texture. 

 He turned the key, kicked the side stand up with his heel and pushed down on the kickstarter three times before the engine sparked into life. The sound was metallic, organic, and Mordred could feel the air mix with fuel, feel the fire that forced up piston after piston. He kept the transmission in neutral, engine warming up with a reassuring vibrating purr, and grabbed onto the handles when Merlin climbed on behind him. Mordred half expected him to use the passenger grab bars so when Merlin slipped his arms around his waist securely his heart skipped an irritating beat.

'Ready?' he asked through the helmet and partly turned his head back. 

'Yeah,' Merlin said and moved a little closer against him. He pulled on the clutch, shifted into first gear, and turned into the road. A mostly empty backpack stood between him and Merlin, but, squished by Merlin's chest, the slight pressure made him feel more secure. 

 They made it to the yard by 7:50-ish according to Mordred's analogue watch. He parked the bike and let Merlin climb off before he joined him as they headed to the main entrance. The ride had been peaceful, fun, exhilarating, and Mordred was tempted, like always, to just stay on it and ride forever. Merlin's warmth stopped him this time, just as the thought of going back to him in the evenings the whole of last week had kept him in London, kept him sane. 

'Go on ahead,' Merlin told him and paused at the gate of the private car park.  

 Mordred looked at him and put a hand on his shoulder. 'You're okay.'

 Merlin nodded and gave him a small smile. He struggled to pull his hand back, but forced himself to walk away after twenty-three seconds. Time had gained a strange specificity in his head since he got back from wherever Nimueh had kept him. Mordred understood his own mind enough to know that was because he'd been so painfully unaware in the cave. Now time was his anchor. 

 He unbuttoned his coat and stepped into the lift. It was in the latter half of 7:50-ish. Running late for the meeting wasn't a great start, not that he was entirely eager to go to it.  The lift filled up with people quickly, and he clenched his jaws when it took on board its last few passengers.

'You should be happy that Kilgharrah is making you SIO of an investigation so soon,' Gwaine told Arthur with his Irish accent. 'Cheer up, mate.'

'Sleep is for the dead, remember?' Leon added with a grin and friendly nudge. That was when he spotted Mordred and the smile blinked away. 'DC Leir.'

 Mordred didn't respond with any words, just nodded, but it wasn't enough. Arthur had trained his eyes on him. They drifted downwards and hardened at something on his chest. Mordred frowned at the strange look.

'That's Merlin's tie,' Arthur said after the pause. He looked down and mentally swore, then swore at himself for swearing in the first place. Why should he feel bad about it? Why should he be so concerned about how Arthur felt about him? He'd made it clear that he didn't want a thing to do with him from the very start, which was fair enough, but the way he'd cut off Merlin for the last week was something else entirely. 'Why are you wearing his tie?

'Arthur,' Gwaine warned lowly, but the lift had only just stopped at its first floor. People left, came in, they were still packed up close and hot. 

'It's not what you think,' Mordred said calmly. It was true. He knew what Arthur was probably thinking, he wished it was the case, and he was almost happy in a twisted way that he thought it. The most he and Merlin had done was cuddle, and while he wanted more, he knew Merlin didn't. Not yet or not ever. Mordred couldn't decipher him. He wanted to know to the point of bluntly asking, but the answer he might get terrified him. So, he hadn't asked and wouldn't. Not until they'd both had more time. Until they'd both been anchored a little longer. 

'No? Then what is it?' Arthur challenged. The other people in the lift watched the renowned DS Pendragon with furtive glances. 'You know, don't you?'

 Mordred kept his mouth shut. Only three more floors and he could get out of this bad situation.

 Arthur forced his way closer. 'Of course you do. That's why he let you back into his life. What's the plan this time, Mordred?'

'There's no plan, Arthur.'

 The doors opened again and Gwaine tried to pull Arthur out by his arm.

'There always is with you,' Arthur said, his expression sharp and lethal, eyes daring him to do something.

The air was still, hot, hushed. Mordred stared into Arthur’s challenge. ’What's your plan, Arthur? Going to ignore him forever? At least I didn't turn my back on him when I remembered.'

 Arthur lunged at him. Mordred jerked back a little but Gwaine grabbed him around the waist and pulled him back, someone shouted out his name and called out 'What's going on?' then the lift doors slid shut again. Mordred relaxed his clenched fists and took a calming breath, ignoring the eyes that pressed into him. Two floors later and it was 8:00-ish. Mordred walked to the Commander's office with determined speed and knocked on the door. He stepped inside and Commander Marten, mid-forties, told him to take a seat.

'So,' the Commander started. Mordred had dropped his bag down next to the chair and waited for a scolding, firing, whatever. His return had received mixed reviews, to put it mildly. 'You'll be receiving a commendation. November, in all likelihood.'

 Mordred frowned. 'Oh.'

 The commander grinned at him. 'Not what you were expecting to hear? Your associations and past digressions are a matter for gossip only, Mordred. Your performance has been exemplary and that's what matters. I've got more news than that, though. There's a new position available and I need to know if you still want to remain in the Intelligence Command.'

'What's the position?'

'You know I can't tell you that until you decide. Remain with Intelligence, or transfer back to Homicide and Serious Crime. Its up to you, Mordred. Last week was mostly paper work, bureaucracy, this is when we get your ball rolling again, so to speak.' 

'I need to decide now, don't I?'

'Yes.'

'I'd like to remain with the Intelligence Command.'

'If you take up the new position you'll liaison with the Trident Command. Heard of Operation Kestrel?' 

'Yes, sir. It's an initiative launched against gun and knife crime last December.'

'Good. You'll remain a part of Intelligence but function within Trident. This position will build on the skills you gained while undercover with Old Religion,' Commander Martin said and paused as if expecting him to react in some way. Aglain's death had shaken the Command, he knew that, but with what Nimueh had done to him, with what had happened and not happened in the two weeks since he watched his supervisor die, Mordred found it hard to feel anything definitive about it. 'While you were in danger then, it was a relatively short if integral role.'

'And this position?'

'You would need to immerse yourself in the gang environment for an extended period.'

 Mordred nodded. 'Weeks?'

'Months,' Marten said. 'I wouldn't be asking if you hadn't proven yourself capable. You're a fighter, Mordred. We need more officers like you in the Met.'

 He narrowed his eyes at the Commander. They must be desperate if he was layering such heavy sweet compliments onto the conversation. In fact they did that a lot with him. A commendation, discussing his skill set, his strength, and then they talked about how he went insane, how he obsessed over Merlin, how he came from nothing and that's where he belonged. Mordred had never experienced as much external or internal whiplash before in his life. He'd never had to kill anyone before in his life. The thought made him frown. That first night undercover the first time, he'd had no choice, he'd done what he'd had to, but there was no undoing it. He was a killer because of it. What would happen the second time?

'I'll be meeting DCS Southers, head of the Trident Command, this afternoon and can confirm your involvement in the Operation then,' Marten said. 'You'd begin immersion within the next two weeks. What should I tell him?'

 Mordred ran his thumb across the fabric of his trousers. The office atmosphere was peaceful, boring, safe. The magic was overwhelming and exhilarating even in that environment, but it was different now. Merlin was in his head, a warmth in his chest, and he wanted to do something with that. He was good at lying, at surviving, and Morgana had ranted on to him about how important Trident was for the future of London. How they saved the lives of kids and teenagers 'who deserved an escape, a second chance' as she had put it. 

'Tell him I'm willing to liaison with his Command,' Mordred said.

'Perfect. I'll have Will take you to their offices in South London.'

'I can go myself.'

'I'm afraid not. Its address is sensitive information. Your first few visits will require an escort.' 

 Mordred resisted the urge to sigh. 'The escort being Will?'

'DC William Cormack, yes,' Marten said with a close-lipped smile. 'He's a good lad. You two should get along fine.'

'He's in the CID?'

'In the same capacity that you are, or were, yes. I'll give him a call, and he can take you there at,' Marten paused and checked his watch, 'let's say half past. You don't have any other urgent business at the Yard do you?'

'No, sir.'

'That's settled, then. He'll meet you out front. I look forward to seeing where you go with your career, Mordred,' Commander Marten said and stood. He offered out his hand which Mordred shook before he grabbed his bag and headed to the door.

 He pulled it open and looked back. 'Thank you, Commander.'

'Keep up the good work, Mordred.'

 When he pulled the door shut he took several breaths before checking his watch. It was 8:20-ish. They weren't wasting any time. He hooked the other arm of his backpack over his shoulder and made his way back to the lift.

 He pushed down on the ground floor button. _Merlin?_

_Yeah?_

_I don't know if I'll be here to give you a ride back tonight. Will you be okay?_

_Magic, remember?_

_Oh, right, I forgot. Don't know how I forgot actually. I'm talking to you with it now. Thinking to you is more accurate, I suppose._

_Where are you going?_

_Don't know yet. Confidential. Although you'll probably know when I do._

_Who needs the privacy anyway?_

 Mordred smiled to himself and turned down their connection when he reached the Yard's entrance lobby. It was hard to figure out, but he'd realised it wasn't so much a case of cutting himself off from Merlin. It was more like turning down the volume or pressing mute, which suited him fine. He wondered if Merlin knew about what had happened with Arthur, if he knew how he had felt that morning. If he knew what he was thinking. No, that was crazy and paranoid. He couldn't hear Merlin's thoughts unless Merlin explicitly let him hear them. Why would it work any differently in the other direction?

'DC Leir?' someone asked when Mordred stepped outside. He turned his head to the right. 

'DC William Cormack?' Mordred asked in return. The man nodded and surveyed him as Mordred did the same. He had startling clear eyes, a strong jaw, and carried bulky strength under his clothes. The soft fabric of his jumper seemed to warm his otherwise strong demeanour. 

'You can call me Will,' he said and they shook hands. 'What did old Marten tell you?'

'That you're my escort to the relevant office in south London. Is it Intelligence or Trident owned?'

'Bit of both, I think. I'm a lot more than your escort too, by the way. I'm the closest thing you're gonna have to a partner,’ he continued. ‘Anyway, it's pretty straight forward to get to so won't take too long.'

'Don't suppose I can take my bike there?'

'Motorbike?'

'Yeah.'

 He pursed his lips a little with thought. 'Not unless you let me drive.'

'Know how?'

'My foster dad was a mechanic and loved his bikes. I'd say I'm pretty good,' he said and shrugged one shoulder. Mordred's attention doubled when he said 'foster' and he simultaneously felt a strange connection and self-imposed estrangement from the man. 'Rode my first when I was fourteen, a Honda CB 50, a relic if I've ever seen one. What's the model?'

 Mordred led him to the car park and let him circle it. DC Cormack, Will, figured he'd get the hang of it without much trouble and, if Mordred was alright with it, would happily take them to 'HQ' on it. Mordred agreed, comforted by his secret resource in case anything went wrong, and unclipped the two helmets from the bike's frame. He threw one to Will, who caught it easily, then gave him the key. 

'What is it you do exactly?'

'Can't tell you that until you sign all the right forms and tick all the right boxes,' he told him with a grin. 'I can tell you that this shit is serious, you'll probably get shot at some point, and you're gonna have to let loose a little on the etiquette.'

'Anything else?'

'It's a boat load of fun,' he added then climbed onto the bike and put on the helmet Merlin had used only half an hour earlier. 'In a life threatening, dead serious sort of way. Come on, we haven't got all day.'

 Mordred positioned himself on the seat, hands closed around the passenger bars. It was uncomfortable and worrying to have someone else take the lead on his bike, but DC Cormack seemed to know what he was doing. In fact, he seemed like a nice guy. A nice, sane and non-magic using detective. He started the engine which rumbled beneath Mordred and they drove out of the car park. 

 Thoughts rumbled out in time with the thrumming, sputtering engine. He’d be undercover for months, with Merlin for months, in London for months, he'd have a partner for months. A bubble of excitement and terror blew up in his stomach. Mordred grinned with the mixture and imagined that it was what internal combustion felt like. Air and fuel shoved together, a spark, and boom. Excitement and terror. He was combusting and it felt amazing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna safely predict another one to three chapters for Fire, and with the introduction of Will's character and the way the rest of this has gone a third part is definitely going to happen (which is hopefully good news :P)  
> There's a lot I haven't gotten to explain/explore properly yet (time before the Met, changes in Merlin's magic etc.) but would like to, and if there's anything you guys feel could use more explanation/plot development or something you'd like to see just say and I'll see about working it into the next part :)


	25. Reality

Merlin didn't want to go. He didn't want to see Arthur. He didn't want to walk, eat, breathe, and most of all he didn't want to feel sorry for himself. Fate, coincidence, whatever it was or wasn't was set on him not getting what he wanted though. 

He had to go. He had to see Arthur. He had to walk, eat, breathe and feel sorry for himself. Mordred walked beside him silently and relaxed with a neutral expression.

'Go on ahead,' Merlin said and stopped by the car park's grey gate.  

Mordred frowned at him then understood and rested his hand on his shoulder. 'You're okay.'

Merlin nodded. Mordred was right. He was okay but he was also the opposite. Dr Ruadan was back on his weekly schedule, and this time he'd lose his job if he didn't go to the appointment even though talking about what was going on would drive him insane. He'd accepted that slowly over the last week. He'd spent it sleeping, reading, practising magic, walking, talking with Mordred, and thinking existential thoughts.

One conclusion had been made: he would go insane. Soon.

He was okay and he wasn't at the same time, he had almost died twice in the last year and he'd seen himself that second time. He'd seen himself in Aredian's place. He was definitely losing his mind. Life sucked, too. Maybe more therapy would be a good thing.

Merlin gave him a small smile and with that Mordred reluctantly left. He watched him go, watched the back of his curly hair-covered head. Mordred made him feel better for whatever reason but he wasn't enough. If he could climb out of his own head and hide himself in Mordred's it would come a lot closer to enough. He let out a long breath and let it all go out with that exhale. He had a job here, he was a detective, he solved crimes and found bad people. He was good at it, he'd worked hard for it his whole life and magic, the past life, wasn't what made him. He was more than that, more than himself. 

Merlin stuck his thumb under the one strap of his backpack and marched on. A strange hush followed him as he went. Conversations stopped, paused, then started up again slowly. Scotland Yard was an efficient statement to policing in London but it was made up of people and people gossiped, lied, corrupted and became corrupt, and the petri dish of colours smudged across the air told him far too much about that reality. The lobby was buzzing, and the lift up was cramped, and eyes followed him with the hush and the mess of colour. Merlin set his face into a hard expression and tied down the magic he subconsciously projected. Colours dimmed and came close to completely disappearing. That was another thing he'd practised in the last week. With Mordred's combined strength he found it easier to control his own power and erasing the colours and trails in the air made him feel a little bit normal again.

The third floor doors opened and Agravaine stepped on. 'DS Emrys.'

'Agravaine,' he replied stripped of all formality. His superior, hateful as the hierarchy was, didn't notice. He looked even more depressed than Merlin felt.

'Your Monday's had a bad start, sir?' he asked. 

Agravaine looked at him reproachfully. 'I'm sure you can imagine, Emrys.'

They didn't say anything else for the next few levels and then Merlin stepped out into the familiar floor of operations. He immediately spotted Elyan laughing with Gwaine at Percy's desk, Percy nowhere to be seen. Leon was scanning some files at the far end of the office floor and Gwen was on the phone smiling. He remembered her expression when he'd told her about Morgana and couldn't reconcile the two images in his head. The whole scene slammed into him with a warm, sweet and sickening sense of nostalgia.

She looked up at him and covered the mouthpiece of the phone. ‘Kilgharrah wants to see you in his office.'

'Okay,' he said and tried to hide his wince at her formality.

'Glad to have you back,' she added with a smile. 'Gwaine hasn't shut up about you.'

Merlin grinned. He couldn't help it. That was when Gwaine slammed him into a hug. It was bone-crushing and Merlin's mouth was trapped against his shoulder. When he asked for Gwaine to let go it came out as a strange muffle.

'Sorry, mate, but this is what you get for ignoring me for a week,' he said and when he finally pulled back he kept a hand on the back of Merlin's neck to keep their heads close. 'Drinks tonight. You buy. We talk.'

Merlin scoffed. 'Alcohol and talking is dangerous with you.'

Gwaine patted his cheek. 'That's the whole point, Merlin. Anyway Kilgharrah wants to brief you on the new case. Murder never sleeps. Percy's out canvasing witnesses with Uniforms. Me and Elyan are going to check out the vic’s home.'

Merlin frowned. A lot had already happened and it wasn't even 9am. ‘Working hard, I see.’ 

'You haven't missed much but we were called in an hour or two earlier.'

'Why wasn't I?'

Gwaine's charm and happy expression faltered. 'Well, Arthur's taking point with this one and Kilgharrah wanted to talk with you properly before you started running around London again. You've had an interesting month, mate.'

Elyan walked up and gave Gwaine a pat on the shoulder before heading to the lift. He didn’t even say hello to Merlin, or really look at him. 

'That's my cue,' Gwaine said and started to leave. He paused next to Merlin with a frown. 'What's going on between you and Arthur?'

Merlin's face heated up. He'd assumed that Arthur might confide in someone, and that it might have been Gwaine, or at least that the Irishman would figure it out. Evidently he hadn’t.

'Nothing,' he said.

'Okay. What's going on between you and Mordred?'

Merlin stared at him and Gwaine stared back. 

'Nothing,' he said again.

Gwaine nodded and looked back to where Elyan waited for him. 'Merlin, if you haven't noticed, our whole dynamic is essentially gone. With you two barely talking and Arthur launching himself at Mordred like he's a killer, which he is by the way, work and social conditions are a little strained.'

Merlin clenched his jaw.

'Shutting me out isn't going to help,' Gwaine said.

Merlin considered staying silent, considered leaving to see Kilgharrah without another word, considered agreeing and promising he'll tell all that night, but he couldn't. His chest hurt too much. He couldn't talk about it and no one had even checked up on him for a whole week.

'It's not like you tried to keep up a dialogue after I went to the hospital,' Merlin said instead.

'Gwaine!' Elyan called. Merlin saw Gwaine's expression darken and didn't know what to make of it. Tapping into his magic revealed nothing else besides the sight of Gwaine's usual forest green aura turning a murkier, pond green. He didn't understand why they weren't actually clicking properly, why he didn't want them to click, why his green had changed, or why he felt more than upset or sad or angry. He felt it all and then nothing at the same time which wasn't even possible. 

By the time Merlin brought himself back from the magic and analysing Gwaine's green the Irishman was gone. Merlin turned and saw him step into the lift with Elyan, then the doors closed and left the green lingering pathetically in the air. Merlin pulled back his powers, the green melting away, and dropped his bag on his desk. He looked through the glass wall of Kilgharrah's office and could see the back of Arthur's head. Below that the glass was frosted and everything beyond it obscured. 

He slipped the coat from his shoulders and hung it on the back of his chair. His desk was eerily untouched, neat and plain. They had probably searched it and meticulously returned everything as it should be out of respect to his rank and his above average arrest record. Before he headed over he dug around in his bag for the water bottle he'd thrown in and drank little over half of it. In the middle of his last mouthful Mordred's voice cut through his thoughts and he choked.

_Merlin?_

He coughed a few times and wiped his mouth. _Yeah?_

_I don't know if I'll be here to give you a ride back tonight. Will you be okay?_

Merlin screwed the cap on the bottle back on and sat it on his desk. He started towards Kilgharrah's office and checked the time on his watch: 8:28am. _Magic, remember?_

_Oh, right, I forgot. Don't know how I forgot actually. I'm talking to you with it now. Thinking to you is more accurate, I suppose._

_Where are you going?_

_Don't know yet. Confidential. Although you'll probably know when I do._

Merlin's lips twitched up. Mordred's voice calmed the anger and anxiety in his chest from the conversation with Gwaine. _Who needs the privacy anyway?_

He knocked lightly then opened the door. Merlin locked his eyes onto Kilgharrah who nodded in acknowledgement and waited form his to step inside and close the door.

'DS Emrys, I'm glad to see you back on duty,' the DCS said and gestured for him to come forward and stand next to Arthur. The proximity had his throat tighten and stomach twist. ’As I've just informed Arthur you will be investigating the death of Susanne Chambers. She was found shot in her office at the Exchange House in Liverpool Street this morning around 6am and pronounced her dead at the scene. Forensics have cordoned off the scene but given the location we'll need to examine and clear up the crime scene as efficiently and quickly as possible. Percy and Gaius are already there. Your main priority will be investigating the crime scene and interviewing her work colleagues at Clayton and Chamberlain LLP. Got all that, Emrys?'

'Yes, sir.'

Arthur moved out of his peripheral vision. When Merlin started to turn and leave as well Kilgharrah stopped him.

'Just a moment, Emrys.'

He looked back, heard the door close, and felt the sudden emptiness of the room. Keeping his magic hushed he didn't see dragon scales in the man's face, just wrinkles, age, dying skin. He pursed his lips at the memories of his own skin being that old, of how it had felt to look in the mirror and see a stranger. Without his old friends he'd killed himself to stop it, to stop seeing that face, to stop seeing the world. 

  'Morgana can't be dead,' Kilgharrah broke the silence. Merlin licked his lips, focused on the current moment again and frowned.

  'You don't believe Mordred?'

  'It doesn't make sense, Merlin. We were brought back for a reason.'

He held back a bitter groan. 'Not everything happens for a reason, Kilgharrah, and not everything has to make sense. Mordred says he saw Nimueh stab her and she hasn't shown up since, I haven't felt her magic and I believe him. No one could survive that.'

'I have a bad feeling about all of this.' 

'You always have a bad feeling.'

'You remember what I told you from our meetings beneath the castle in Camelot, Merlin? You and Arthur are destined to protect Albion, to unite it. We weren't brought back into this new life by chance, young warlock. King Arthur will rise again when Albion needs him most.'

He stared at Kilgharrah with narrowed eyes. It was the same song, the same preach, that he'd heard too many times before. Merlin could hear the words in Camelot, in that older, cleaner air. He could feel the rough fabric of his clothes, the constant anxiety to be with Arthur, the anxiety he still felt when he was with him. 'Arthur isn't a king anymore.'

'No, no he's not,' the ex-dragon agreed, 'but he still has that strength. Whether Nimueh's enchantment took hold or not there must be something dark on its way, something that has nothing to do with us. Nimueh, Morgause, Morgana, Old Religion, they were all brought back as a consequence of Arthur's reincarnation. Even you, Emrys, were brought back because he was. So far we haven't seen the real issue, and so Morgana can't be dead and you and Arthur can't be done with each other. Your destiny hasn't changed, Merlin. You must protect him.'

He clenched his fists. 'Arthur doesn't want anything to do with me.'

'I thought you two had become involved?'

'We're not anymore, or ever were, really,' he said, and a hot numbing flush ran down the back of his head, neck, shoulders. His body couldn't believe it.

'Fate has other plans, Emrys.'

'Fate?' he scoffed. 'Fate won't change the facts of this twenty-first century life, Kilgharrah. If there's a big bad on its way I'll do the moral, fateful, thing and help Arthur, but my presence doesn't seem to be helping anyone beyond that. I'm not going to repeat the past. I won't let myself believe that he'll understand and forgive me. Not a second time round.'

'You never lied to him. You yourself didn't know at first.'

'I've known for months and I didn't tell him. He might have accepted my magic in this life but not the lie. Lies.'

Kilgharrah leaned back in his chair and stared at him over half-moon glasses. 'What would you suggest?'

'Reassignment.'

Kilgharrah lifted one eyebrow and waited.

'Assign me to a different murder investigation team within the CID,' he continued. 'That way I'll be close enough to help him if he needs it, but far away enough that everyone can work properly again.'

'I doubt that would be necessary.'

'Even if we shared past lives together I've only known them and you in this life for less than a year. I didn't even know about magic a year ago,' Merlin said, hands relaxed and body cooler now that he'd said it. 'We aren't who we were before, Kilgharrah. Things are different and I won't make the same mistakes.'

'Mistakes are a part of life, Emrys.'

'Then I'll make better mistakes. It's not as if staying glued to Arthur's side saved his life the last time. I'll be here if and when you need me, but-'

'But?'

He took in a breath. 'You didn't see his face, Kilgharrah. Before we only worked so well together because we had no idea and then because I kept the truth from him. What we have now isn’t enough.'

'Very well,' Kilgharrah said. Merlin wanted to yell at him for making it so hard, for not just agreeing when he'd said, 'Reassignment', for making him explain. He kept his jaw clamped shut and back straight. 'Solve this case and you'll be reassigned to a different task force. This will be your last investigation with DS Pendragon and his team.'

'Thank you, sir.'

Kilgharrah hummed then looked back down to an open case file on his desk. 'You're dismissed, Detective Sergeant.'

'Sir.'

Merlin's eyes searched out Arthur the moment he opened the door. He couldn’t see him anywhere. Leon was now filing away whatever he’d scanned, Gwen was still making calls and a few other teams milled around conducting their independent investigations.

'Gwen,' he called out, and she held the phone down against her shoulder to listen when he came over.

'Have you seen Arthur?'

'He left,' she said after a small hesitation.

Merlin's stomach wrenched. 'Where?'

'Crime scene.'

'Oh.'

'Susanne Chambers? She's an only child and her parents are retired in San Fransisco,' Gwen told him, her momentarily sympathetic look turning cool and professional again. 'I've tried to get a hold of them but they're apparently on a cruise and unreachable for another two days. I'm on hold with the travel agency right now.'

'Okay, thanks,' Merlin said and left her to grab his coat. Once he was inside the lift and its doors had closed he Vanished.

The Exchange House, part of Broadgate Estates, spanned an impressive chunk of the financial district. Glass, dark metal, suits and non-disclosure agreements cut the atmosphere into something purer, faker, harder. Merlin hopped up the steps on the ground outer level quickly, taking in the beams of black metal that stretched across overhead, before heading up a black staircase a Uniform directed him towards. It was all strung together by bolts and steel to make an intricate, intimidating framework that housed three high profile companies. 

Merlin pulled out his warrant card as he entered the Clayton and Chamberlain offices. The ceiling was high and the outer wall a mixture of rectangular glass windows cut through by sharp metal in a cross-hatch pattern. Strangers in bespoke suits and others in Metropolitan Police uniforms filled the large foyer-like space with conversations, questions and directives.

'Merlin!' someone shouted over the chatter, his name echoing slightly. He opened the black leather wallet in the face of a pushy security guard and passed without pausing. Percy jogged up to him. 'Turns out we can't lock down the building without causing a financial crisis that'll cripple the world's economy or something like that, so we've got to work quickly.'

'That explains all the bankers,' Merlin said as he fell into step with the DC who led him up the polished marble staircase into a main corridor.

'And lawyers,' Percy added. 'That's what Chambers was anyway. A partner to the law firm. Her specialties were asset management and dispute resolution. Gaius wants to take her body to the coroner's office but I held him off until you and Arthur got here. Where is he?'

'On his way,' Merlin said, ignoring the bitter taste in his mouth. 'And dispute resolution? You're kidding.'

'Ironic or coincidental?' Percy asked with a grin. Merlin smiled at him, wanted to hug him for a brief second, then deconstructed the moment into its naked pieces before letting them fall away with his smile, the humour, and looked ahead. 'She's through here.'

Percy pointed to a door at the end of the corridor and held up the police tape stretched across it for Merlin. On the other side white body suits, covers for shoes and gloves waited. A Uniform took his coat and Merlin tugged on the set quickly. Percy headed back out to settle the mess with the rest of Clayton and Chamberlain's employees. Before he stepped into the office Merlin hooked the mask over his ears and pulled up the suit's hood. Securely wrapped up and contained he walked inside and lifted the constraints on his magic. 

'She died instantly,' Gaius, the only other person in the eerily quiet and still room, said. 'One bullet entered through the parietal bone, exited the temporal bone, and embedded itself here.'

Merlin watched from the further available stepping plate as Gaius crouched down out of sight behind the desk. The air was hot, uncomfortable, and the voice made his hair stand on end. 

_'Killing me won't help you. Please, just think this through.'_

Susanne Chambers' last words, pulled and strained through the room by his magic which picked apart the moment. That was all he could hear though, all he could really feel. That last moment when the killer had shot her, how she'd heard the click somewhere in her mind but couldn't understand what it meant. She didn't have time to understand it before her thoughts stopped. Gaius was right. She died instantly, painlessly too if you ignored the mental stress of having someone threaten to take your life away from you. Merlin swallowed and moved forward. 

'Prints?' he asked and at the sound of his voice Gaius shot up.

'Merlin, I didn't realise it was you,' the man said through his mask. 

'I didn't realise you now attended crime scenes.'

'While working in the laboratory or coroner's office are my preferred areas, I make the exception every now and then,' Gaius said and used a set of tweezers to capture a dark coloured hair sat on her shoulder. Merlin zoomed in on the hair. Its smell was masculine and expensive.

'Why now?'

'Kilgharrah asked me to. I could hardly refuse.'

'So? Are there any prints?'

'Several. Whether any of them belong to the murderer we'll have to wait and see. I'm afraid there's little more I can do here.'

'Don't worry you'll get to head off soon,' Merlin assured him and came around the other side of the office. 'Estimated time of death?'

'With the extent of lividity, rigor mortis, and her body temperature, I'd say between midnight and 3am this morning.'

Susanne Chambers had ginger hair, strawberry blonde, red, whichever description she had preferred. It was long, sleek, loose, and draped itself over her shoulders, the nape of her neck, the table where strands had hardened in the congealed blood. A few years before seeing a dead body like that, looking almost alive, had made him throw up. Fast forward through his training at the Academy, the first two years working a beat, testing himself into the rank of Detective Constable, and the queasiness was gone, the shock absorbed and distress wound into determination. 

'I was actually expecting Arthur,' Gaius said. Merlin could feel it running through his veins, the adrenaline she'd felt, the way her heart had thumped so heavily in her chest and ears, the way her hands and feet had grown numb with survival instinct. 

He stepped over to the other side of her body, being careful to stay on the plate, and leaned down so his face was in line with hers. Brown and green eyes, thin and delicate eyebrows, smudged mascara, freckles and peachy lipstick. 'Doesn't everyone?'

'Are you feeling better, Merlin?'

His cheek felt the pressure hers had when the killer pushed her head against the table, teeth cutting into his skin until it bled. 'How do you know I was ever feeling bad?'

'What sort of question is that? You were throttled in broad daylight.'

_Think this through._

He'd pushed harder. It was a man and he'd pushed the barrel against her head with more force and filled her ear with his voice, filled Merlin's ear with his voice, his breath, his heat. He couldn't hear the words. He felt them, though, felt the pain of the gun barrel’s sharp edge. They made his heartbeat race, his face heat up and his hands turn even colder. He couldn't breathe, the air was too thick, too hot, it stuck itself in his head and throat with the man's words and breath. It was just like the lake, that fire, the grip of Aredian's hands around his neck. He'd seen himself, though, it wasn't Aredian. He'd been the one killing himself. In broad daylight, he'd throttled himself, he'd murdered Aredian. 

'Merlin!'

Gaius' hand clenched around his upper arm, pulling him away from the desk which had snapped up too close, and the other pulled him back around his waist. Merlin stepped away from the body and Gaius onto a different plate. His back hit the wall with his loss of balance but he managed to stay up.

'Merlin,' Gaius started, that old and careful voice sharp with concern. His head was too hot to care though and he darted out of the room. He brushed the hood back from his head and pulled the mask off, throwing it to the ground. The forensic examiners that littered the corridor watched him strangely as he walked away, under the tape and into one of the nearby empty rooms.

Merlin timed his breaths in and out, concentrated on the sensation of the air rushing past his lips, ignored the metallic taste of blood. He wasn't dead, he wasn't dying, he wasn't Susanne Chambers. He was alive. He wanted to be alive. He ran his tongue along the fine bleeding wound and remembered it wasn't his teeth that had cut into the inside of his cheek. It wasn't really his blood. 

‘Shit.' 

He let out another long breath and snapped the gloves off, unhooked the shoe covers, and slipped the white suit from his body. Once he'd bundled it all up in his arms he headed back to the police tape. A few steps down the corridor and he froze. 

Arthur was talking with Gaius. They spotted him and promptly killed their conversation. He pressed his lips together and kept walking forward, handed the covers to a Uniform and took his coat back. 

'What happened to you in there?' Gaius asked quietly. Merlin made sure to stay on the other side of the tape, investing a profound amount of security in the thin strip of plastic film, as he drew the coat back on. 

'Gaius says you collapsed,' Arthur added.

'Almost,' Merlin corrected, eyes focused on getting the coat arranged comfortably over his jumper. 'I didn't collapse. Anyway, none of the evidence was corrupted. I just got caught up.'

'With what?'

'Her murder,' Merlin said and looked up. His voice was hard, aggressive, and Arthur flinched imperceptibly. This was the first time they’d spoken in over a week. The first time since the argument in his flat. While he almost vented at Arthur then and there he swallowed it all down, too aware of where they were, and Susanne's words grounded him in a gruesome way. _Think this through._ 'All I can tell you is that the killer's male and had her at point-blank. Probably had some personal motive for killing her.'

'Why personal?'

Merlin fought an urge to press his hand over his right ear and keep that stranger's hot breath away. 'He whispered into her ear when he pulled the trigger. To be that close to the gun when it went off, to be that close to _her_ when it did, it was probably personal. There's nothing else so I'll go talk to some of the employees and check if there are's any CCTV.'

'Hang on a second, Merlin.'

He kept walking back towards the main foyer. 'I don't have time, Arthur.'

'Hey,' Arthur said and grabbed his arm. 'You _almost_ fainted in the middle of an active crime scene. That never happened in the cases we worked before Aredian came along. Something's changed.'

Merlin turned around and scoffed. 'It has, has it?'

'You're angry with me.'

'It doesn't matter,' he said and tried to leave again. Arthur's grip tightened and pulled him to the side of the corridor when forensic examiners passed. Merlin shrugged out his hold.

'If it interferes with a criminal investigation it matters, Merlin, and clearly it's interfering,' Arthur told him. 'I'm the one who gets to be angry right now, not you.'

'Why can't I be angry?'

Arthur frowned at him and leaned in. The motion brought his peppermint breath closer, made his anger clearer and took apart the controlled expression. Arthur was intimidating him, accidentally or not, and it made his heart rate pick up. 'Because you lied to _me_ about who you are for almost a year. Because you lied to me for years back in Camelot and because you did what we had? It was a lie, Merlin. I get to be angry because you made it all a lie.’

 _I don’t want you to change._ _I want you to always be you._

_You're the most beautiful man I've ever known._

His voice was just above a whisper when he said, 'Not all of it was.'

'It's hard to believe that at this point. It's hard to believe you at all. Two lives and in both I trusted you. I thought I knew you.'

Merlin pressed his lips together. His body still partly believed he'd just been shot in the head and now his chest was aching with Arthur's words. Heartbreak and murder were two things he'd experienced before. This, whatever it was, cut him deeper than both of those things ever had. 

'Why didn't you tell me when we met? If you’d shown me months ago I could have stopped Morgana from killing my father. I could have stopped Mordred from hurting you. I could have stopped Morgana from going to save _him_. This? All of this _shit_? This is on you, Merlin. You’re a liar. Past and present. So, I get to be angry and you sure as hell don't get to take this out on me.'

Merlin wanted to climb back into the bed with Mordred, go back to the morning, go back even further to the morning he'd decided to write that stupid letter, the morning he decided he'd die again if it meant saving Arthur. He wanted to crawl back under the covers with Arthur and tell him he loved him, never leave him, never hurt him. He wished he'd kept on lying, that Arthur could have accepted the truth. 

Arthur sighed. 'We have an investigation to get on with. Let's play nice and do our jobs, alright?'

Merlin's eyelids felt heavier and he forced his lips into a smile. 'Yes, sire.'

Arthur's tired expression snapped and he leaned in so close their noses touched. 'You know what? We don't even have to play nice and you can be as angry as you like cause if you get to act all pissy I get to admit that a part of me wishes I had never even met you.’

A sickening rush of cold blood rolled through him.

'I'm sorry,' he breathed. It was breaking, their bond was breaking, and he didn't know how to stop it. He didn't know if it could be saved, if it should be saved. ‘I didn't choose my destiny. I don't want to believe fate even exists but here we are. You're the Once and Future fucking King and I was born to serve you. Don’t worry yourself too much, Arthur. After this case I'm transferring to a different team. You won't have to look at me unless you're in some kind of danger.'

Arthur stepped back. 'You're being reassigned?'

Merlin wanted to tell him he'd worked hard to get where he was, that he'd wanted to be a detective years before they met, long before he remembered his past life. Arthur's confused look made him hope that he still cared, and that made him angry, so he decided against continuing the conversation. 'I'm sorry about Morgana.'

Once he'd said that he turned around and raced down the curved staircase into the main crowd. All the conversations and echoing sounds dimmed and Merlin's steps slowed down, his hands numb again like Susanne's had been.

_Emrys._

The voice dove into his head and pushed out every thought, emotion, physical sensation. Merlin stopped and stood suspended. Everything stopped just as he did. Sounds, movements, the flow of air all grew low and heavy and thick like fog. That voice had pasted and licked itself all over the inside of his head, coated him in something simultaneously cold and hot as fire, just as wild, just as hard. 

A hand touched his shoulder and he whipped around.

'Woah, it's just me,' Percy said and smiled at him. 'I checked the security tapes and I think the killer's on them but we never see his face. Looks like he knew where all the cameras were.'

'Get the tapes taken over to the Met analysts. See if they can catch him out,' Merlin said, heart still racing. The world was working properly again only this time he had a headache.  

'DS Emrys?' 

Merlin looked at the Uniform who'd interrupted. 'Yes?'

'Someone leaked news of the murder to the press. They're outside and they know you're here, too,' she said.

He puffed out a breath. ’Shit.’

'Thank you, constable. Percy,' Arthur walked up to them and dismissed her then Percival, who nodded to them both before heading off. 'I'll handle it, Merlin. Susanne Chambers was advising Peterson Global Investors on the implementation and impact of Dodd-Frank. You should go check them out. I'll text you their address. What's your number?'

Merlin hated how he hadn't known that about her and how Arthur acted like they hadn’t just had the conversation they had. He was getting caught up in too small a part of the murder and his personal life. Motive, reason, actually investigating, that was what he was supposed to be focused on. Not how she felt when she died, not what he'd seen when Aredian had attacked him, not strange voices calling out his name, not Arthur. 

'Merlin? Number?'

His stomach twisted. 'I'm still using your old phone.'

'You are?' Arthur asked, eyebrows lifted. Something passed over his face then he frowned and nodded. 'Okay, well I'll text the details over in a bit. You should go there on foot.'

'I only used magic to get here because you left without me, Arthur,' Merlin told him. One of the suits shot him an odd stare. He'd said it a bit too loudly. Arthur didn't shush him, though, just looked at him in that strange reserved, angry, unknown-feelings kind of way that Merlin hated. He could use magic to figure out exactly what Arthur felt, could even try to get into his head, but he wouldn't do that. Not to anyone and especially not to Arthur. He hated it even more because he knew he could understand it if he had to. He didn’t have to, though, so he didn’t.

'Come on,' Arthur said after the pause and they headed back towards the main glass doors. Merlin studied how their bodies were reflected faintly in the glass. Arthur's bulkier shape was countered by his slimmer build, blonde hair by dark, blue eyes by gold. Merlin's steps faltered. Golden and inhuman eyes cut through by black slitted pupils stared back at him.

_Emrys._


	26. Close Your Eyes

'Stop it,' Arthur hissed and came back to his side.

'I can't,' Merlin said and frowned at the reflection. The colours weren’t quite the same, distorted by the greys reflected from the metal and marble of the foyer, but the gold burned perfectly. He dragged in a tight breath. Everything was hot, his skin, the air, his clothes.

Arthur’s face was inches from his. ’What do you mean you can't?'

Merlin looked at him and tried to control his panicked breaths. Why was breathing suddenly so hard? 'I don't know why it's happening.'

Arthur flickered out of view. Merlin blinked and then he was back again only fainter. Something translucent and dark spread its roots over his skin as if time had sped up and let something dig down through the dirt of the air to reach into him. He blinked again, hoped it would go away, but the fine brownish roots stuck against him, crawled around the curve of his jaw, pressed the soft skin down as it moved up to his ear and inched inside. Merlin stepped away breathless and Arthur flickered again. He returned as normal, staring at him with a frown, and unaware that something had tried to grow into him like it would a corpse.

'Merlin, you need to stop it before people see,' Arthur urged again, closed the gap between them again, and put a hand on his shoulder. The touch made his stomach turn in on itself painfully. Queasiness washed through him stickily, hotly. 

'I think I'm seeing things. Hearing things' Merlin whispered, his heartbeat thumping erratically. Arthur was normal, they were in the Exchange House, they were at the scene of a murder. ’Something’s wrong.'

Arthur seemed to take in his fear and understand part of it, the hand on his shoulder squeezing gently. 'Let's just get you out of here, okay?'

_Emrys_.

Merlin spun around when the voice, the sensation of breath, brushed itself over the back of his head. The sharp motion caught Arthur off guard and several suited women and men looked at him strangely. There was nothing behind him. It lasted two seconds. A pause of confusion. 

One second and the glass cracked. 

Merlin tried to use his magic, tried to see what caused the sudden eruption of fine fissures that run through the glass white and brightly like lightning, knew people were staring at him and his eyes, knew that everyone had fallen silent just to be sure they were actually hearing the deep cracking of the walls, the glass of doors. 

Two seconds and it all blew inwards.

First the glass then the metal when it screeched and warped itself at each connection. Blinding static filled the air and wiped out any colour. Merlin hit the ground. Arthur pushed him down further, pressed his chest to the marble, and covered them both with his coat as glass fell.

The building moaned with the strange contortion of its metal skeleton. Broken glass rushed down and fine dust cushioned the deeper sound. Once the shower had stopped people moved, shouted 'Is everyone okay?', asked what was going on, ran for the exits.

Merlin pushed himself up slightly, hands pressed into the white dust and small glass pieces. It looked like some of it had been pulverised. Arthur's chest stopped him from getting up fully, the sudden heat comforting, but he had to go. He could see his eyes in a shard that had landed a foot away from his face. They were what he'd seen in Aredian, in himself, in his death, that lake. It was more than magic. Looking into them made him panic and calm at the same time, like the strange void at Christmas. 

Merlin forced himself up with more momentum, forced Arthur to stand and stumble back. The pressure caused several stinging sensation to erupt over his palms and fingers, cut into finely, shining pieces trapped in the skin. He ignored it and pushed his way out of the building, each step crunching. Arthur’s hand touched his arm but he slipped into a group of suits that blocked his access as they squeezed through the main doors.

'Merlin! Wait!'

He hurried through their empty frames, down black stairs, through more doors, reception, stairs, cold air.

Glass littered the dark grey concrete outside and faces pressed against the windows of Broadgate Tower opposite, every surrounding building watching in shock. The Exchange House looked like someone had done the equivalent of scrunching up a sheet of paper. Its thick foundations kept it upright in its malformed state, and the press lined up on Primrose Street came out from the shelter they'd taken. Merlin watched a young cameraman cradle his head in his hands, blood from a cut somewhere rubbed over his fingers. Other people had various cuts, bleeding wounds, mostly the ones running past him, running into him. Merlin took it in through his frown and blinked slowly.

Arthur swore when he caught up with him. 

Merlin turned left and walked quickly. He folded his arms against the cold wind, ignored the heat on his right wrist, probably a deeper cut, and headed left again at the end of the street. Each motion made him oddly aware of the fine glass pieces caught in his hair, suspended there and feeling out of place.

Arthur ran a little to keep up. 'What's going on, Merlin? Did you do that?'

Merlin pressed his lips together, swallowed the urge to cry, took deep breaths. He crossed the street quickly. Traffic had stopped entirely as people investigated what they probably thought was another bombing. 

'I don't know,' he finally said and aimed for somewhere with less people, less witnesses, less noise. They headed into Pindar Street. A redbrick compound stuck up on the right, another faceless glass tower on the left, and no people between the two. Once they'd gone far enough to lose sight of either end, the point where it was just them, brick, glass and the increasingly violent wind, Merlin stopped. 

The gold shifting in his eyes flashed in the glass of the window opposite the street. He couldn't make it go away. He tried, blinked hard, willed it, swore at it, but it didn't.

Arthur watched him silently. 'Merlin-'

'I don't know, Arthur,' he snapped and ran his hands over his head. He turned on the spot, movement and awareness of the world distracting him. His hands kept stinging, the shock of red against his pale wrist struck him for a second but he didn’t care.  ‘I don’t know why we’re here. I don’t know why I thought you’d understand. I don’t know why I can’t just die. I’d stop it if I could, alright?'

He sucked in another breath, realised his cheeks were so cold because they were wet, and stopped turning to stare at Arthur.

‘I’d stop it if I could,’ he said again. 

'Merlin,' Arthur said and walked towards him. 'We need to go somewhere. Back to your flat, or mine, just not here.'

He knew he was on the edge of hysteria and nodded even though he hated Arthur, hated him and himself and everything that was happening.

A car turned around the curved edge of the street and Merlin turned away quickly to hide his eyes. Arthur stood next to him, helped block any view of the strange gold, and they waited for it go past. 

The car didn't drive on. It parked, cut the engine, and several doors opened and slammed shut. 

Merlin frowned at Arthur, they shared the confusion, then he looked over Arthur's shoulders to see the strangers. Hoods, illegal military grade guns, no licence plate. His hysteria grew considerably calm with the realisation, and his frown melted away with resolution. Arthur seemed to have the same conclusion when he moved in front of him, but Merlin tugged him out of the way and lifted an arm, willing his magic towards them. It burned hot when it ran through his forearm to his palm.

A gloved hand snatched at his wrist, dug into the wound there, and twisted him backwards before he could stop it. The forceful yank brought him centimetres away from the thick black cloth that stretched over their nose, their fast breaths, and their light brown eyes. Sharp pain in his abdomen made him look down. Their free hand was wrapped tightly around something. They'd pushed it into him. Through his shirt, skin, and deeper. It was inside him, cold and hot like the lake water, only this was real. This wasn't fire.

They shoved him back into the wall. His head hit it sharply and the knife, dark with his blood, disappeared quickly when his attacker put it back into his pocket and stepped away. 

Merlin's back willingly rested against the bricks and he let his legs give way, coat shifting awkwardly with the friction as he moved down. The strangers watched him, watched Arthur when he realised what had happened and sank to his knees beside him.

'Oh my god,' he breathed, leaned over him and stared at the place Merlin knew he had been stabbed. It felt strange. It hurt, he knew it hurt, his body was telling him not to move and to run simultaneously with adrenaline, but it was strange. 'Heal it, Merlin, you have to heal.'

Merlin pushed himself back a little so he could lean against bricks properly, some pieces of cold dirt sticking to his sore palms as he did. The concrete was cold too, but his coat was a good extra layer.

'Why aren't you healing?' Arthur yelled and Merlin looked at him. His eyebrows pushed the skin between them up into little mounds of concern, blue eyes even bluer somehow, wetter. He didn't know why he wasn't healing, why his eyes kept glowing gold, why the building had broken. When he looked past his King he saw them, the hooded strangers as they stood watching for something.

He clenched his jaw against the hollow ache that rolled in his stomach, the way his head thought telling him about how painful it was would help. Merlin knew magic kept most of the pain away, but it wasn't doing anything else. He could feel the injury extended beyond his abdomen, circling around his lower back with an odd stiffness as muscles tensed and ached. 

'Heal!'

One of the hoods came forward. Arthur stood to push them back. They hit him in the mouth. Momentum carried him to the ground just in front of Merlin's feet, and they stamped down against his head with their boot. A horrible _crack_ came with the motion.

What he did know was how to kill them. Arthur pushed himself up to his elbows, spit out blood, and move back to rest on his heels. 

'Who are you?' Arthur asked, voice rough and worryingly slow. 

'No one,' the hood that had kicked him said. 'Currently hired to kill you two.'

Arthur tried to get to his feet and the same man kicked at his ankles. He hit the ground again, nose crunching against the concrete when he did. Merlin winced and pulled on his magic to help, but it kept pulling back. He sighed looked up at the grey sky, concentrated on the wind blowing over his face, wet eyes, his hair. It was too cold for August. It wasn't right. 

'Aredian?' Arthur asked them and Merlin looked back down, saw that he'd gotten back to his hands and knees. 

'You should have expected it,' a new hood said and turned towards Merlin. He marched forward and grabbed his shirt collar, scraped him back up the wall so they faced each other. His abdomen pulled, burned, told him not to move, and his head told him off too. 'He's an abomination after all.'

A gun, colder than the concrete, pressed against his temple. Merlin blinked at the man. He saw Arthur try to move too quickly, to get to him, but another hood snatched at his coat and threw him back down.

The trigger clicked.

A gunshot echoed down the street. It bounced off the glass and brick as it repeated and rolled, over and over and over. The hooded man dropped and Merlin fell back down. He shifted himself away from the dead body, ears ringing with the sound of the shot, and rested against a new part of the wall. He put his hand against the stab wound and closed his eyes, the high-pitched buzz filling his head. Blood was thick, warm, and spreading. It was part of him outside of him, which biology said wasn’t a good thing. It hadn’t been like this when he’d been shot. It hadn’t been like this when Aredian strangled him. He let out a tired breath. It never felt so boring, so real, so calm, so strange.

When he opened his eyes again, the world muffled, he saw that Arthur’s eyes had blown wide like the light of an exposed bulb. The remaining three, or was it four? Merlin decided it was three. The remaining three hoods were just as shocked as none of them did anything for a few long, pounding, seconds.

The shortest one moved first, reached for something in their jacket. Merlin took in a deep breath and held it. Wind blowed over his face. It knew what he needed it to do. The next breeze jerked away from him, sped up, grew, and rammed them all backwards through the air. He let the breath go again. They hit the ground with strange thudding noises. His head pounded in the new buzzing quiet.

Arthur crawled over to him. Merlin shifted his fingers in the heat above his belt and frowned at the way his shirt had soaked through so completely. He could see the wound on Arthur's head as the blonde struggled towards him. He could see the way his nose had broken in such an ugly way, wished he could fix it. Arthur's movements were slow, the tips of his shoes catching small pieces of gravel, coat hanging down at his sides and folding out and in strangely when he moved one knee forward then the next. Once he'd reached Merlin he rested his shoulder against the wall next to him and the breeze almost disappeared with his body there to block it.

'You have to heal, Merlin,' Arthur told him again, quieter this time, and reached up to hold his left cheek with his hand. The touch of his fingers didn't feel quite real. He wondered if that’s what Arthur had felt on that bank at Avalon. Arthur was warm. Merlin turned his head to the side to look at him properly, the space between them windless. Arthur was warm and concussed. He could see it in the strange distance in his eyes. 'You used magic to stop them. Use it to save yourself. Please, Merlin.'

Arthur stroked his thumb against the skin just below his eye. Merlin saw the light against his fingernail, the way it curved up to the joint, breathed into their personal space. He wanted to tell Arthur that it wasn't working, that he didn't know why, or how. He just didn't know. He wanted to thank him for how warm his hand was. The wind had been making him too cold. He wanted to ask if Arthur could help him pull his legs up to his chest so they wouldn't be stretched out so uselessly, so exposed to the cold.

Arthur leaned in, rested his forehead against Merlin's, their noses nestled against each other, and stroked his cheek again. It was so warm. Merlin wanted to smile. He swallowed, fingers involuntarily twitching against his soaked shirt, both hand and stomach now covered by part of his coat. He blinked, the pain virtually gone. Now he was just warm, too cold, and tired.

'Don't close your eyes, Merlin. Please,' Arthur said. His voice was soft and just for him. The words touched his lips warmly with Arthur’s breath. ‘Please, for me. Don't close your eyes.’

 

* * * 

 

Merlin closed them for just a second. The darkness was peaceful, like when he'd watch it rain outside while his aunt made dinner in winter. There hadn't been any sounds of city traffic or sirens blaring off. It had just been the rain on the grass and in the trees and on the patio, forming little puddles. If he’d been lucky Chester would watch it with him, add his purr to the sound of sizzling food and rain while he rubbed his soft cheeks over his fingers. The darkness was safe, but he forced himself to open his eyes again for Arthur. It took effort and time with how heavy they'd become. When he did, though, he didn't see Arthur.

He had no idea where he was. 

It was deafening. The sound of the wind, the crashing waves below, the rain, they all merged together into a relentless clash. Merlin took in a sharp icy breath, shivered with the raindrops that pattered against his face, down the back of his neck, and looked down over the edge of the cliff. It was an ocean. The white foam splattered the cliff's base over and over again, each wave more violent and demanding than the last. 

He felt for the stab wound but found no wet heat, no tear in the cloth, no pain. He was wearing the same shoes, currently squelching in the muddy grass. He was wearing the same trousers, same shirt, coat, with no stab wound, no blood, no London, no Arthur. A new sound filtered in through the wet white noise. It made his heartbeat change pace and his ears ached. The drumming, beating, ran through the air like an electric current, touching everything and changing everything when it did. 

Merlin shivered again, goosebumps rose over his skin, and he stood as still as he could. Rain ran into him coldly, seeped through the shirt in a few seconds, made his skin numb. It was growing stronger, louder. Each beat shifted the angle of the wind and raindrops, urged them into his back more forcefully each time. It was terrifying.

The next beat through the air brought fire. Light blinded him for a moment, then he adapted and stared right into it. The strange current in the air ran through his body, his head, and the fog, rain, sound, it all disappeared when the fire flooded him. 

Merlin involuntarily breathed in and let the heat ease itself over his tongue, between his teeth, down into his chest. It spread thickly and burned, painlessly, like running a finger through a candle flame. It consumed him, was inside him, he saw it, but it didn't hurt. He couldn't stop himself when he laughed. The sensation was unnerving, how the air and the fire ignored physics when he did. He laughed with and through fire before it rolled forward and disappeared.

Another heavy beat threw a fresh sheet of rain against him and the dim, he almost lost his balance, then the grey light disappeared with a shadow. Merlin looked up, blinked against the rain, and saw a dragon. It was dark, as large as the Shard, and drove on into the storm with that rhythm, the one he felt in his chest. He only saw its underside, any more detail obscured, but before it disappeared into the fog it turned its head. 

That one eye, with the golden iris, knew him.

Merlin recognised it too, like he had recognised Arthur the first time he’d seen him. This ran deeper though, made the confusion in his head clear, not worse. 

It turned its head forward again, its tail sliced the air in front of him, and the fog thickened. 

The rain grew heavier and the drumming beat faded. Merlin stared at where it had disappeared, no longer shivering with the odd new warmth under his skin, until someone moved to stand next to him.

He turned, took in the dark hair, the soaked through green blouse, the calm blue eyes.

'You're dead,' he said, surprised his voice was so clear, so loud, over the noise.

Morgana looked at him. ’If I'm dead, what does that make you?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the lack of real resolution doesn't bother you too much, but like I said this isn't the end end, it just felt right to leave Drop of Fire here. I already have a plan/idea of what's coming next and will begin the final part of Rise of Dragonlord very soon :) Thank you so much for your comments, kudos, and commitment to my story ^_^


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